by Tim Susman
“Indeed,” Master Albright said. “Have you not been taught basic science and understand the progression of daylight around the world?”
“Yes, of course.” Kip tried to recover his poise. Malcolm had told him, but all his trips had either been early in the day or at night. “I hadn’t noticed it so dramatically illustrated before.”
“Ah, yes.” Albright straightened. “It can be masked if you jump during one of the long nights, or early in their morning. At any rate, now you have seen it, and here I will take my leave of you.” He wagged a finger at Kip. “Remember what I said about Master Gugin.”
“Yes, sir,” Kip said. “And thank you for looking after my evenings.”
With that, Albright blinked out of existence. Kip searched the other towers and thought he saw a blur of motion on Lord Winter’s Tower, but it was the farthest from him, and even with his night vision, seeing at a distance was difficult. “I should have a demon around all the time,” he thought as he found the stair and descended. “Better than spectacles.”
15
Master Gugin
Master Cott, at least, greeted Kip with unfeigned delight. “I’ve found three more spells for you to work on,” he said, and pushed two large books at Kip.
Two of the spells in question were about creating fire at a distance: one allowed the sorcerer to send fire to a particular substance, so for example you could make the rifle stocks of an entire company combust if you had an example of what they were made of; the other used a simple translocational spell to send one of Cott’s colored powders to a spot and then ignite it, so you could create variously colored signal flares. The third spell would allow the sorcerer to create a fire underwater. “Normally,” Cott said, reading over Kip’s shoulder as he perused that last one, “this is the one that would give you the most trouble, as it did me and my master both. But with your lack of schooling in translocation, you might find that second one more challenging until you master at least the basics of that discipline.”
“Who will teach me that?” Kip asked.
“Albright, perhaps,” Cott said. “You seem to get on well with him.”
“Er…” Kip folded his ears back. It was nice to be able to allow his ears and tail to express his emotions in front of Cott, who either didn’t care or didn’t know what those movements signaled. “Why do you say that?”
“He fetched you today from Prince George’s, didn’t he? MacDougal came and told me about it. Thought I asked for him to be replaced. I told him I wouldn’t care one way or another who fetched you as long as they brought you over alive. Why would I care if MacDougal or Albright went?”
“So who did ask?” Kip was pretty sure he knew, but he wondered if Cott knew.
The master did not, and what’s more, was as uninterested in that question as in anything that didn’t involve fire. He didn’t even ask Kip about the glass beads, and when Kip brought it up, he said, “I haven’t had time to think on that,” which to Kip meant that he hadn’t had any motivation to think about it. It didn’t surprise him.
“I’ll start the spells,” Kip said, but thinking about the glass beads had given him an idea. “Where is the library, and do you think I might visit it sometime? I would greatly like to read more about the way these spells have been used.”
“I can fetch books for you,” Cott said.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you to go looking for more books.” Kip smiled as ingratiatingly as he could. He wondered briefly if Master Gugin could teach him how to cast a simple spiritual hold to make Cott allow him a little freedom. Of course that would be unethical and wrong, but it was a pleasant fantasy. “If you have research to do, perhaps I could go along?”
Cott thought about that while Kip pretended to read through the spell. “Aye,” he said, “We can go down tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Kip said, and bent to study the first spell.
True to his word, Cott took Kip to the library the following day. It was in the King’s Tower, so they had to descend to the base of the War Tower, cross the courtyard, and enter the largest and most ornate of the College’s towers. Crowds of students flocked around them, but unlike the other day, paid Kip almost no attention. In the train of a sorcerer, a Calatian nearly vanished in the sight of the average student.
Cott led him to a large room with the doors wide open and a bored-looking student leaning against them. Here Kip caught the peppermint tingle of a nearby demon and looked about for one only to have his attention caught by the student. The young man lifted his head when Cott approached, his eyes flicking to Kip, and only then did Kip see that his eyes were bright green and slit-pupiled like a fox’s. “Who’s the Calatian?” the demon asked in a stilted voice with a dry, brittle timbre.
“My apprentice,” Cott replied. “He is allowed to enter.”
This satisfied the demon, and he went back to watching people walk back and forth in the hallway as Kip and Cott strode past him.
This wasn’t the right library. The ceiling beams were set against stone rather than wood, and though the smell was similar, it wasn’t as thick with musty paper, the wood smelled different, and the windows were narrower. But Kip followed Cott and spent the afternoon looking through history books anyway. Mostly he studied records of battles, looking for places where fire had been used.
All the incidents were sadly unimaginative. Fire set in an enemy battalion, fire set on an enemy warship. Fire inside a besieged keep. There were no underwater fires, no distant fires, and only two instances where signal fires had been used. But some of the tactics used were of interest, so Kip read through to find accounts of how the fires had caused the most confusion. He doubted he would ever have to use that information, but the words of the revolutionaries kept echoing in his mind. There was at least the possibility that there would be a war soon, and whatever side he was on—the Empire’s, he was…well, mostly sure—he would be of most use if he knew how best to use his power.
There were also defenses against fire magic, he read. Several of the spells the fire sorcerers had tried were blocked by wards or the fires were suffocated by air elementals. Often the fire sorcerers themselves were the targets of assassination, he noted, and had sorcerers attending to them at all times. He wondered whether Malcolm had learned to set wards yet.
In the remaining time before Cott gathered his books, Kip looked up wards. Defensive magic was difficult because it was reactive rather than active, because you could never know the nature of the spell that was coming against you. The books of defensive magic contained complicated paragraphs which Kip thought he understood when he read them, but couldn’t have explained to anyone else, let alone put into practice.
As they left the library, Kip asked, “What other libraries are available to sorcerers? Master Gugin recommended I look up some histories to find out more about the glass beads.”
“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know.” Cott waved a hand. “I’ve always found whatever I needed here. I suppose you could consult the Royal Archives if you wished, but we will have to send for a special dispensation. It might take weeks.”
“What if you told them it was about the attack on Prince George’s?” Kip asked. “Could it come in faster then?” When Cott demurred, Kip said, “I think we both should go, of course.”
“Yes, yes, very interesting.” They crossed the courtyard as Cott pondered that. “I will ask Master Albright.”
Kip’s ears went up. “Master Albright? Why?”
“Oh, he knows you, and he’s quite well connected. He’s had an audience with the King, I believe. At least, that’s what Martinet says. Albright won’t talk about it, and I suppose that’s proper. But I hear he does procure the odd favor when asked.”
“I would—that is,” Kip said, “please don’t trouble him. Not yet. I’ll see if I might find another way. Is there an official way to request access?”
“That’s ridiculous.” Cott strode up the stairs of the War Tower. “Whyever not avail yourself of his help?”
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br /> It took Kip three flights to think of a proper answer, but he had to come up with something. He couldn’t tell Cott that he did not trust a respected sorcerer who had—to all appearances—only been generous to him, that he was sure that generosity masked a more sinister motive. “I don’t feel I’ve earned a favor from him yet. I very much want to make my own way where I can. Perhaps—perhaps if I’m not able on my own, I will go ask him.”
“Ha.” Cott preceded Kip to his office door, opened it, and strode inside. “I suppose I can understand that. Very well, as you wish. I won’t mention it to him. You may go to the Royal Archives and submit a request yourself.”
“Thank you,” Kip said, though he had no idea when he would have the time to do that.
Master Albright, true to his word, sent two apprentices to take Kip out that evening, a short straw-haired boy with a northern accent, and a tall boy with a narrow face who had grown up in London (in a neighborhood called Kensington). This latter talked in disparaging tones about the businesses in the village, how they were perfectly fine for students, but the shops and pubs in Kensington were much better, and when he’d learned to translocate he would go there more often. Both apprentices were studying under a Master Pembroke, and told Kip it had been common for a master to take two or even three apprentices until several sorcerers returned from the military after the defeat of Napoleon. They had been apprenticed for nearly four years now, and expected to take their examinations to become Masters in another three. The shorter one hoped to be sent to Gibraltar for the climate; the other wanted to remain at King’s College.
In a polite, formulaic way, they asked Kip about his own life and studies in tones that indicated near-complete disinterest. So he kept his answers short and followed them up with more questions about their studies. There were aspects to physical magic he hadn’t considered, like causing objects to spin, moving small particles very quickly so as to heat up an area, and using a delicate touch to assist engine-driven machines to help them conserve fuel. The apprentices hinted at other sorcery they were studying, but didn’t wish to talk about.
On the whole, they were pleasant company. Kip enjoyed listening to their stories and learning about their world, and though they didn’t want to hear about his life specifically, they were interested in life in the Massachusetts Bay colony. They had heard about the movement to revolution from many years ago and asked Kip if people still spoke of Samuel Adams, Thomas Payne, and other traitors. Kip acknowledged that they did, but did not mention John Quincy Adams nor even John Adams to his companions.
They took him out two nights, and begged off on the third so they might attend a dinner being given for the apprentices. They invited Kip, but the fox felt that the invitation should be issued from the college. As none was forthcoming, he remained in Cott’s workshop.
The solitude was pleasant for a short time, but after an hour with a cup of tea and a warm fire, Kip’s thoughts turned to Master Gugin. He really should visit the sorcerer, if only to explain to him why he hadn’t come to see him since his return.
So he flew over to the Astronomy Tower. The chill in the air made flying uncomfortable, even over the short distance between two adjacent towers. As he landed, Kip wondered how hard it would be to learn to translocate to such a familiar location. He thought, Master Gugin, and scanned the parapets for Scar, but the raven was nowhere to be found.
The shutters at the raven’s window were closed and locked. He descended to the window that let onto Gugin’s chamber, the one the old sorcerer never wanted open, and found them similarly secured. Shivering, he raised a paw and rapped on them. “Master Gugin?” he called.
No answer. Kip’s fur prickled from more than the wind. Of course it was possible that Master Gugin had simply left on a trip. He owed no explanation of his time to someone else’s apprentice. Kip hesitated, but curiosity overcame him and he pressed his eye to the gap between the shutters.
There wasn’t enough light inside for Kip’s eyes to make out any details. He gripped the stone windowsill, just in case, and called on fire to burn the inside of the shutters. Very small fires, barely enough to consume anything, just enough to cast some light on the inside of the room.
The familiar room took shape before his eyes. He couldn’t see the couch, but he could see the bookshelves, the door, and the carpet. Everything in the room looked quiet and normal. But his hackles stayed up and he peered through, looking more closely.
A shadow on the carpet, deep black, drew his eye. It might just have been the shadow from the couch, but it wasn’t quite the right shape. And then he realized what was wrong with it: part of it was a wing, black and still as night.
His breath caught. He pressed his eye to the shutter, convinced that he’d only caught Scar in a moment of rest, that in one more second the raven would get up and fly to the window, despite the fact that he’d never seen a raven lie with its wing outstretched on the ground. But the seconds passed and the shadow remained still, and so Kip extinguished his fires and lifted himself to the top of the tower, where he sat against the wall. What was he to do in this case? Cott was asleep somewhere, and he had no idea where the Headmaster of King’s College was, nor had he ever been introduced to him.
He should go back to the workshop. The wind was only cold on his nose and ears, really, but it hissed past him and brought smells of the Thames and made it harder to think. If he could only—
A tingle in his nose made him look up and around, wildly. He hadn’t detected many demons here at King’s College, but the sharpness was unmistakable. The roof of the tower appeared to be empty, but that meant only that the demon wasn’t visible. So—what if Kip summoned Nikolon? The demon could enter Master Gugin’s chamber, tell Kip what it saw there, and possibly even find the Headmaster’s office.
But he’d need a knife, or at least some way to cut himself. He could bite his tongue, but hard enough to draw blood? No, back at Cott’s workshop he had a knife. He hated to leave the Astronomy Tower, but if Gugin had been brought to harm—
What if he weren’t dead? What if he were merely injured, dying slowly? The same certainty he’d felt looking at the raven’s wing returned to him.
He gathered magic again and hovered beside the shutters, pulling them apart with magic and then opening the window with cold, shaking paws. When he got the iron-bound glass to swing aside, the puff of air that greeted him left no doubt as to the state of the inhabitants: the sickly smell of
Master Gugin lay on the couch, his face a mottled purple, mouth open and eyes staring at the ceiling. Scar lay with wings outstretched on the carpet in front of him. Kip backed away from them, and as he did his legs weakened and he had to sit down. He couldn’t look away from Gugin’s face, and though their relationship had been short and largely formal, his chest tightened and he had to focus on steadying his breathing. Master Gugin had been one of the few masters in London to treat him as a worthy pupil. And what could strike him down?
The gleam of silver in a nearby cabinet drew Kip’s eye. He waited a moment to gather his strength and then walked over to take the short knife, its metal cold in his paw.
Nikolon appeared again as the vixen when he summoned her, but he ordered her to take on a human form and go seek out the Headmaster of King’s College. Before he completed the order, another thought crossed his mind. “Wait,” he said. “Is there another demon nearby now?”
The human, a golden-haired dark-skinned woman in a golden robe, cocked her head and then shook it. “How nearby, master?”
Kip judged the distance to the roof. “Fifty feet.”
“No.”
“Has there been in the last fifteen minutes?”
“There has been none since I was summoned,” she said. “Beyond that I have no way of knowing. I
do not command Time.”
“Very well,” he said. “Go fetch Headmaster Cross.”
He lit the lamps in the room with a simple fire spell, then sat and waited. At worst, he thought, the head would be something like Patris, but he hoped for someone reasonable. Patris, if he found Kip in a room with a dead sorcerer, would likely attempt to hang him on the spot. Albright at least would give him the benefit of the doubt; Kip was sure of that even if he didn’t trust Albright anymore. And why was he thinking of him in connection with Patris? An echo of that last spiritual hold. Kip growled and paced the room until Nikolon returned.
The demon appeared as the vixen when she did, her fur glossy in the lamplight. “Headmaster Cross is on his way. He has asked your permission to send me to alert two other sorcerers to join him here.”
“Yes,” Kip said, heartened by the request for permission. “You may alert the other sorcerers he specified. Did he say anything? Should I do anything?”
“He did not specify, but when I told him how you entered, he said,” and here her voice took on a low rasp, “‘Then I shall fly up myself in a moment.’”
“Thank you,” Kip said. “You may go alert the other sorcerers. But use the human form. Wait.” He tilted his head. “Why did you return as the vixen?”
Back in human form, Nikolon inclined her head. “You specified that I should seek out Headmaster Cross in human form. Once he was sought out and I had left his presence, there were no restrictions on what form I should take.”
“Very well.” Kip gave a quick nod. “Go about the headmaster’s errand. When you return to me, do so invisibly.”
A moment after Nikolon vanished, Kip’s ears perked to noise at the shutters. The window flew open, and in stepped an old man in a thick wine-red cloak with a white dressing-gown under it. His bald head and round clean-shaven face gave him a casual, friendly air as he was making his way inside, but when he straightened up and closed the window with a gesture, his authority and piercing stare brought Kip to his feet.