The Revolution and the Fox

by Tim Susman

  “Of course.” Kip looked around for Malcolm. “May I bring guests? My wife is here, and two other masters.”

  “We would be delighted. You know I wish to have excellent relations between our two schools.” Janssen offered a hand.

  “As do I.” Kip shook warmly. “It is nice to feel that we have an ally here, at least.”

  “Ah, yes.” The headmaster released Kip’s paw. “The newly-named School of the Americas, isn’t it? Headmaster Jackson? They have sent representatives here, although like you they declined to present an exhibit.”

  Whom could the school have sent? Probably not Jackson, although he might appreciate the chance to visit Amsterdam on official business. Master Jaeger wouldn’t travel, Master Splint wouldn’t be allowed to (Kip had made enough enquiries about getting Splint to come to Peachtree that he doubted Jackson would let the healer out of his sight), and none of the others, to Kip’s memory, had shown much interest in travel. The ones who might have, Masters Vendis and Argent, now taught at the Lutris School.

  He didn’t care enough to ask, and anyway Master Janssen was making to depart, so Kip thanked him and bid him good-bye. Malcolm had gotten Jorey the attention of a friendly German sorcerer, so Kip told him about the evening’s invitation and then returned to the Salon.

  Emily and Alice sat at the same table, alone now. Kip took a glass of soda water from one of the attendants and joined them. “How successful has your day been?” he asked, reaching out to Alice as he sat.

  Alice squeezed his paw and then reached for his soda water, so he gave it to her. “A mixed bag,” Emily said. “A good deal of ‘we are so excited about what you are doing, and just as soon as we’re able…’ and a little bit of ‘how much land is available in America these days?’ And one person who asked Alice to tell war stories.”

  “And one who wanted to know if you were about,” Alice said. “Not to hear stories, but because he was scandalized that I would be here without you.”

  “There were several people who didn’t want to talk to two women.” Emily rolled her eyes. “Mostly they came around when I introduced myself as the headmistress of the school, but two walked away again.”

  “How many people did you talk to today?” Kip asked.

  “Twenty or so, I should imagine. The nobles aren’t as interested in the actual sorcery so much as who’s here, and so they all linger here so they can see and be seen.”

  “So,” Alice continued, setting Kip’s soda water back in front of him, “they like to find new people to talk to so it doesn’t seem like they’re only staying here to see who else is here.”

  “Did you have any luck?” Emily asked.

  “A little, perhaps.” He told them about Chakrabarti.

  “Only the one healer?” Emily asked. “You went through our questions with him?”

  “Yes. He seems a competent and decent fellow. We might also have a Dutch healer, but if possible I’d like to retain them both, if this de Koning is also good. Headmaster Janssen has invited us to dinner tonight and said we might meet him there and discuss our proposal.”

  “How lovely of him.” Alice smiled.

  “We’ve put Holland on the world stage in terms of sorcery.” Emily lowered her voice. “I’m pleased that they remain grateful.”

  “They also helped us become independent,” Kip said, matching her tone. “Not just America, but the Calatians.”

  “And better rights for women,” Alice added.

  “We’ve helped each other, then,” Emily said. “So it’s good that we continue to do so, and I’ll leave it at that. Speaking of world stages, though, it sounds like things are not going so well on the Continent here. Holland is fine—the people are happy with their role in the war. They feel they got a great benefit while giving up very little. But in Prussia, there’s a good deal of agitation between the Kingdom of Prussia and the other German states, which as far as I can tell comes down to how closely their alliance works and what they call it, but I’m sure at the root it’s more than that. And Spain is somewhat stable by virtue of being ready for war with England at all times, but France is suffering from what Napoleon demanded of it to create its empire and then from the penalties taken from it when that empire fell.”

  “So there aren’t any French nobles here?” Kip asked.

  “There are.” Emily looked a little put out that he hadn’t asked anything else. “Some of the nobles kept their family lands and still have a good deal of wealth. But I feel our best hope is with the Dutch nobles. They’re currently our closest allies on the Continent.”

  She went on with some other point about politics, but Kip’s mind had skipped to the British Empire, and in the middle of one of Emily’s sentences he blurted out, “I saw Victor.”

  Alice stiffened while Emily merely pursed her lips, but Kip could read her well enough to understand her annoyance. “Did you,” she said. “How does he look? Disheveled and filthy, I hope.”

  “Alas.” Kip shook his head. “He saw Jorey.”

  Emily’s lips tightened further. “If he interferes with our students in any way, so help me…”

  “You’ll drop him in the ocean?” Kip asked with a smile.

  “He’ll wish I’d only done that.” Emily’s eyes darkened. “Sleek has been to a great number of unpleasant places.”

  “Where is Sleek?” Kip only then registered that Emily’s raven wasn’t with her.

  She pointed up. “On the roof. I thought it would be off-putting for nobles if I had a bird on my shoulder.”

  He nodded. “I was accompanying Jorey because the sorcerers up there wouldn’t speak to him otherwise, and Victor saw me and Malcolm. We made him feel most unwelcome.”

  “I’d expect nothing else.” Emily’s mouth did curve into a slight smile. “All right, then, we’ve all got to be on our guards a little more. If he has the chance to sabotage us, you can be certain he’ll take it.”

  “But why?” Alice asked. “He’s got his post at King’s doing whatever he’s doing, and we’ve got our school. Why can’t he leave us alone?”

  “Because we’ve got magic,” Kip said, “and he doesn’t, and he doesn’t think that’s right.”

  Emily nodded. “Women and Calatians doing sorcery while the proud son of a respectable shipbuilder—”

  “—who knows more about sorcery than all of them put together—”

  “—can’t so much as lift a single pebble.”

  “It’s just not fair!” Kip imitated Victor’s cultured tone as best he could.

  “It’s more than not fair.” Emily sighed. “It’s a great wrong in the world.”

  “Is that what his experiments are about?” Alice looked between them.

  “To be honest, he’s never said as much to us.” Kip lifted his eyes to the ceiling, decorated with beautiful paintings of the old Greek and Roman gods.

  “But he oozes it every time he talks to us. The entitlement drips from him like sweat.”

  “Though I’ve never seen him sweat,” Kip said.

  “He might be a demon.” Emily rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. “One his father summoned and bound and never let go.”

  Kip laughed. “He’s too coherent to be a demon.”

  “Besides,” Alice put in, “if he were a demon, he’d be able to do magic.”

  “Only when his father commanded it.”

  “All right.” Kip stood and leaned over to kiss Alice. “I’m going to talk to the British sorcerers and see if I can find out anything about Victor and his experiments. Good luck the rest of the day. I’ll find Malcolm and we’ll meet down here to go to the dinner.”

  “Good luck yourself,” Emily said, and Alice ran her fingers along his paw.

  For the better part of an hour, Kip walked around the British sorcerers on the first floor, engaging them in conversation here and there. They all knew who he was, even if he didn’t know them, but unlike the rest of the attendees at the Exposition, they weren’t interested in hearing his story of the Battle of
the Road. One of them told him stiffly that he’d known Cott and had been a good friend of his, which Kip found dubious; he’d been introduced to all the Masters Cott was on speaking terms with during his time at King’s. There weren’t many. But the mention of his former master brought back memories of his death, so he left that conversation quickly.

  Others ignored him and spoke very loudly near him about “that upstart school” and the “ragged urchins and animals pretending to be real sorcerers.” He walked away from those people and kept his ears forward, ignoring the little urges that called him to start a fire at their table, or to find Victor and start a fire on him.

  A couple of the British sorcerers were bored and therefore more talkative. They said variations on, “No hard feelings, jolly good work on your part,” so he spent more time with them. But even these more forthcoming men knew little about Victor and his experiments. “Rum fellow,” they agreed. “Struts about like he owns the place, and no more magic in him than in the stones of the college.”

  “At Prince George’s,” Kip said, “his father had donated quite a lot of money to the school.”

  “I don’t know as King’s needs his father’s money,” the first sorcerer said. “He knows someone, likely the headmaster, and that someone is very interested in what he’s doing.”

  “Is he going to show something of it here?” Kip asked. “He told me he was going to present something on the last day.”

  “Oh, you’ve spoken to His Nibs?” The sorcerer laughed. “We was told to mind our tables, do our little sorcery, and tell people King’s is the greatest college of sorcery in the world.”

  “Who doesn’t know that already, I ask you?” the other said. “But it’s a sight better than runnin’ errands for Martinet.”

  “Oh, I know him,” Kip said. “Rather, I’ve met him. Had supper with him one night.”

  “Lucky you,” the sorcerer said sourly, while his companion nodded. “That you only had to sup with him one night, I mean.”

  “He wasn’t too bad.” Kip smiled. “But I was a novelty. A Calatian who could do sorcery.”

  “Fire sorcery, no less.” The other sorcerer shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that. They say it eats you up inside.”

  “Like spiritual magic,” his companion said, “but of the soul, not the mind.”

  “It can be controlled, like anything else. I don’t feel like starting a fire right now. And even when I do…I can stop myself.”

  They both laughed. “I’d hope so. This old place would go up like kindling,” the first one said.

  “You’ve no idea what Victor’s doing, then?”

  “No. Why d’you care so much?” He turned to his friend.

  “Aye,” the other replied. “None of us do.”

  Kip didn’t want to mention the missing Calatians, which might not be related. There were a lot of reasons Calatians might go missing in London. “The last time I saw him was during the war,” he said, “and he talked about experiments he was doing.” Although it hadn’t been Victor, actually; it had been Farley, who’d said that Victor was doing experiments to help him. Presumably that meant reversing the demon’s curse that had made the bully a marmot-Calatian, which would explain why Farley—and Albright—had said that Kip would be “useful.” He rubbed his whiskers. “He and I have fought in the past, and he’s enlisted other sorcerers and bullies to try to get the better of me.”

  The sorcerers exchanged a look and uneasy grins. “Ay, I wouldn’t want to be on that one’s bad side.”

  “Can’t help it, I’m afraid.” Kip held out his paws and swished his tail around. “I was born on his bad side.”

  “Aye, but it’s profited you well enough. Got your own territory and all.”

  “Wish my family could have our own territory.”

  Kip took a breath in, already formulating a question about whether the young English human men in front of him would also like to be looked down on their whole lives, prevented from owning property or participating in government, and casually beaten or killed, in exchange for that territory. But it was not an argument worth having, not here any more than back in the newly-built corridors of power in America. “It’s been very nice,” he said. “Thanks so much. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  They protested that talking to him was the most interesting thing they’d done all day, which might have been true but also felt like courtesy. At any rate, people were streaming downstairs for the first great exhibition, so Kip went to join them.

  That first public exhibition, by a Prussian sorcerer, held little interest, but Kip watched it all the way through anyway. The Prussian summoned a water elemental and levitated it, broke it into pieces, absorbed part of it into cloth and then let it separate itself again, and showed how it might carry ink to write on paper. All of these were things Kip knew to be possible and had seen done, but for many in the crowd, the feats inspired gasps and cheers. Across the large room, he was pleased to see Jorey, Richard, and Charity clustered together with Malcolm nearby, all watching avidly. None of the sorcerers currently at the Lutris School had an affinity for water elementals, so this was good for them to see, if not particularly useful for him.

  He searched the crowd for Victor, but the pale young man was nowhere to be seen. Emily and Alice had remained in the Salon talking to the most fancily dressed pair Kip had yet seen: a man and woman in white powdered wigs, with skin so pale it had to be made up with a cream of some sort, dressed in multiple layers of shimmering finery, blues and lavender and cream with gold trim and jewelry. If anyone at the Exposition could spare money, it looked like they could. Just one of the rings from the man’s fingers would probably keep the school going for six months.

  Toward the back of the crowd, on the opposite side of the large room, a figure in a hooded cloak watched silently. Nobody else’s face was hidden, so the figure intrigued Kip and he watched it for a few minutes. Then it made a movement and the hackles on his neck rose. It couldn’t be, could it? His casual attention turned intent as he looked for the shadow of a marmot’s muzzle below the hood.

  From where he was, he couldn’t make out any details, but the longer he watched, the more certain he grew. So he made his way through the crowd, slowly, trying not to look like a hunter, but keeping the cloaked figure in his sights the whole time.

  He’d made it halfway across the room, perhaps forty feet from the figure, when a Dutch-accented voice behind him called, “Hey Calatian, put your ears down, we can’t see!”

  Another voice laughed, and then someone else said, “That’s Master Penfold of America.”

  Kip turned to see a sorcerer talking to two well-dressed young men who reddened upon meeting his eyes. They mumbled apologies and looked away, and Kip shook his head and returned to his path.

  When he looked back toward the hooded figure, it was staring directly at him. Twin gleams shone from the darkness. And then it turned and made for the far exit, close behind it.

  Kip cursed inwardly and hurried his pursuit, but his quarry had clear space to traverse while the fox had to make his way through people trying to follow the presentation at the front of the room. He told the raven on his shoulder to follow the figure, and Ash launched herself from his shoulder, causing a small panic around him that slowed him further.

  Through Ash’s eyes he watched as the figure reached the door and pushed through it. Ash darted through above his head, clearing the door a moment before the figure turned and slammed it shut.

  This door didn’t lead back to the Salon but to the street outside. Ash soared above as Kip navigated the crowd of people, a task made more difficult by his double vision. The hooded figure hurried along the street to the canal front where there was a crowd of people, but paused at the corner and looked back.

  Ash’s view jerked in Kip’s sight as the raven stopped dead in mid-air. Recognizing the effect of a spell, he stopped just as quickly in the midst of the crowd, gathering magic even as Ash was driven toward the ground. Panic flo
oded his link with the raven, but Kip cast the simple spell easily and caught her a man’s height above the street. For a moment his spell wrestled with the other for control, Ash trembling against the restraints of both. Kip resumed his hurry toward the door, worried that the figure—it was Farley, he was even more sure—would come back toward Ash, but then Farley disappeared around the corner, and Ash was released into Kip’s spell.

  She squawked a protest and so he let her fly in pursuit of their quarry. Cautious now, he directed her to the roof of Trippenhuis where her keen eyes could scan the crowd in front of the great building.

  Kip finally got to the door and out into the cool air, filled with the scents of the city rather than of hundreds of people. He breathed in and then kept close to the wall as he trailed Farley, watching primarily through Ash’s eyes. She perched on one of the cornices atop Trippenhuis, and when Kip had determined that there was enough room for him, he translocated himself up beside her.

  “Now,” he said, “let’s see where he goes, and if we can keep out of sight while we follow him.”

  The latter proved moderately difficult, as Farley was now aware he was being followed. Ash kept to rooftops and tried to fly only when he wasn’t looking back. Once she lost him in the shadows, but flew over the surrounding streets until she found him again.

  Kip hadn’t seen a great deal of Farley Broadside since his demon-cursed transformation to a Calatian, but that had not affected his lumbering gait nor his quick reflexes, which showed as his hood snapped around to look from side to side and even behind him. And it was in one of these looks that Kip finally got the confirmation that he was right, when the cloaked figure’s hood turned into the sun and for just a moment, the fox saw Farley’s familiar muzzle.

  Something was different, though; the last time he’d seen Farley, the man had shaved all the fur from any visible place on his body, leaving pink skin and a criss-cross of angry cuts and welts. But now the short brown fur appeared to have grown back, at least in the brief glimpse Kip caught.