by Tim Susman
Kip didn’t hold the look for long. “After this,” he murmured, “the sorcerers will likely have time to prepare their shows. We can try to get Victor then.”
“Mmm.” Emily rubbed her chin.
M. Dieuleveult looked ill at ease at the side of Master Patris. “Come on,” Kip said, walking in that direction. “I’ll introduce you again. Victor might have the ear of his wife, but we’ll at least get our feet in this door.”
“All right,” Emily said, “but I do want to talk to Mme. Dieuleveult as well.”
“Yes.” Kip didn’t look over toward the noblewoman. “I don’t want Victor to think we’re worried about him.”
“No, I agree. Let’s build on your work this morning.”
As they approached M. Dieuleveult, the man brightened. “Ah, it’s Master Penfold! How have you spent the day?”
“Planning to give you a marvelous show.” Kip smiled, ignoring Master Patris’s glower. “You remember Mistress Carswell, the headmistress of our school?”
“Indeed I do!” M. Dieuleveult grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. “A most formidable lady. I imagine that between the two of you, you can accomplish much.”
“We have done the best we can.” Emily smiled her warmest smile. “We hope that with your help, we will be able to do much more.”
“Of course, of course!” The Frenchman laughed. “Although, you understand, my wife will make the final decision. I may add my opinion to the matter, but she runs the estate.”
“Oh.” Kip and Emily looked over to where Mme. Dieuleveult laughed at something Victor said.
“Yes.” Following their gaze, M. Dieuleveult’s smile vanished. “We have a saying in the court about the peacock and the rooster, and that is a rooster for certain, for all his finery and that feather.”
“He doesn’t even—” Kip stopped to get control of his voice. “He’s funded by King’s College, with the Royal Treasury behind him. He doesn’t need money.”
“No, but it would please him greatly to keep us—or Patris, for that matter—from getting it.” Emily’s tone, clipped and short, matched the tightness in Kip’s chest.
“As I understand it,” M. Dieuleveult said, “he has been telling my wife that our money will be safe overseas. He says that this can soothe our relationship with the British Crown and that he alone of all the schools promises to return the money once his research is complete.”
“Return the money?” Kip stared. “How does he mean to do that?”
“He’s not spending it to educate,” Emily answered before M. Dieuleveult could. “He’s spending it to make some kind of sorcery that people will pay for. A weapon, I suppose.”
“Or else he’s lying,” Kip rubbed his paws down his robe and turned to M. Dieuleveult. “I’m sorry. Victor has been less than truthful with us in the past.”
“You and he have a story?”
“We have history, yes.” Emily drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Out of impotent jealousy at our accomplishments, he has tried to wield some political influence to tear down what we’ve built.”
“He’s kidnapped Calatians and tried to frame me for murder,” Kip said.
“Oh, dear.” M. Dieuleveult clasped his hands together.
Emily gave him a bright smile. “We hope that our performance convinces your wife that ours is the worthiest cause.”
“Yours is by far the worthiest cause,” the Frenchman said unexpectedly. “What could be more worthwhile than teaching young students sorcery? And of all the schools here, yours is in the most dire straits. We have made inquiries. But alas, worth may not win the day.”
“Then what—” Kip stopped as Emily laid a hand on his arm.
“We understand and we’ll do all we can,” she said.
Kip thought back to the morning and the visit to the church. “Which of the saints would hear our prayers, do you think?” he asked.
“Grégoire le Grand,” M. Dieuleveult replied promptly. “I believe in English he is called Gregory. He was the Pope who spread Christianity throughout Europe, Gregory the First. I have read a little of his Dialogues, and for a while I hoped to obtain one of his relics, but they are held close in Saint-Pierre de Rome. But yes, he is the patron saint of teachers and students, and there are even whispers that he was a sorcerer himself.”
“I had not heard that.” Kip wasn’t sure whether Saint Gregory would approve of their secular education, but he accepted the recommendation because M. Dieuleveult’s smile returned as he was giving it, which was his purpose in asking.
“He has one line that I refer to often with our servants here who do not have their letters…’Illiterate men can contemplate in the lines of a picture what they cannot learn by means of the written word.’ He meant, of course, that you can illustrate the Gospel to reach those who cannot read, but it is a reminder to me that simply because one cannot read doesn’t mean one is,” he tapped his head, “unintelligent.”
“Very true,” Kip said.
“Now, speaking of the servants, where are those hors d’œuvres?” The noble looked around the room. “Charles told me that the carts arrived as planned. And where is Charles? I beg you excuse me while I see to this. I hope there will be refreshments soon.”
He walked briskly toward one of the doors. Kip tugged on Emily’s sleeve. “Come on,” he said. “If Madame is the one to convince, then let’s go do the convincing.”
Emily stared at the noblewoman and Victor and then said, “In a moment. I need to straighten my hair.”
“But—“ Kip had time only to utter that word before she vanished through one of the doorways.
He calmed himself until she returned, and to his eye her hair looked the same as it had when she’d left, but he didn’t say anything. “Ready?” she said, and walked on without waiting for an answer.
Mme. Dieuleveult was still talking to Victor when Emily strode up boldly with Kip in tow. “Hallo, Victor,” she said. “It is so delightful to see you again.”
“Miss Carswell.” He half-bowed.
“Headmistress Carswell, actually.” Emily’s smile didn’t crack.
“Yes, I’ve heard.” Victor turned to Kip. “And Master Penfold.”
“I can’t wait to see what trick you’ve decided to use to entertain the guests tonight,” Kip said.
“Oh, I was just telling Madame Dieuleveult that I think we can do better than a trick. Of course I can’t expose our research to every sorcerer at the Exposition, but here in more refined company, we can be more free with our sorcery.”
“By ‘we,’ I assume you mean Master Gupta there. The one who can actually cast spells?” Kip indicated the other sorcerer, standing by himself looking down at the floor, his lips moving.
“The magic comes from him, but the research and the spell are, I assure you, all mine.” Victor’s smile didn’t crack.
“Master Adamson claims that he can really do what he showed at the Exposition,” Mme. Dieuleveult said. “Isn’t that wonderful? To replicate a Great Feat here, in my house!”
If a Great Feat could be replicated, it would by definition no longer be a Great Feat, but Kip didn’t think their hostess was in a mood to hear such technicalities. It occurred to him that if Victor did succeed in creating Calatians, he would have destroyed a Great Feat, although with much less destruction than Cott had.
“It will indeed be remarkable, if it happens,” he said.
Victor just smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, I do see some more people entering that I should greet.” He took Mme. Dieuleveult’s hand and brought it to his lips.
“One moment.” Emily took Victor’s hand as he released Mme Dieleveult’s. “I did want to ask, since you mentioned our students yesterday, whether you’d seen anything that might be of use to us in finding them. After all, it was immediately after your demonstration that they disappeared.”
“I see. As I’m sure you’re aware, a demonstration at an exposition takes a great deal of planning and focus. Oh, but you didn’
t give a demonstration, did you? I—” His fixed smile cracked, and he pulled his hand away from Emily’s. For a moment he stared at her and then he called over her shoulder, “Master Gupta!”
Emily wore the same neutral expression, but beneath it her teeth were clenched. Kip wanted to ask what had happened, but was forestalled by Victor, smoothing his smile into place again and addressing the bewildered Mme. Dieuleveult. “I thought,” he said, “that we might give you a small taste of tonight’s spell, since Master Penfold is here.”
The Indian sorcerer arrived at Victor’s side, and Victor pointed to Kip. “The fox,” he said, “just for these people here.”
Master Gupta nodded and lowered his eyes in concentration. Kip took a step back. “Wait,” he said, drawing magic into him in case he needed it. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“It won’t harm you,” Victor said. “Master Gupta is an accomplished spiritual sorcerer whose specialty is illusions, the ability to convince people they are seeing what is not real. He is going to demonstrate the spell I am working on and, with your support, will be able to complete.”
Emily took Kip’s paw in her hand. He grasped it, glad of the comfort, and felt a small stone from her ring pressing into his paw. But Emily didn’t usually wear rings—
A voice echoed in his head. Kip, I am here.
He nearly jumped. Peter?
I will guard you against any spiritual sorcery, have no fear.
All right. Thank you. He breathed evenly and relaxed.
Mme. Dieuleveult stared intently at him and then her eyes widened. “Mon Dieu!”
“Yes,” Victor said. “You see, the foundation of my research is to examine what gives a Calatian their essential nature. What if you could separate the animal from the human and allow them to live normal, fruitful lives unburdened by the curse of their birth?”
The noblewoman shook her head, still staring at Kip. “I am not sure I see the value in this.”
Emily took a step back, also staring at Kip, and then a frown crossed her face and she shook her head. Kip wanted to throw the illusion off of him like a cloak, but had no way to do so. “We don’t regard it as a curse,” he said to Victor, “but a gift.”
“A gift that keeps your people in cramped, filthy housing.”
“The way that people treat us doesn’t determine our nature,” Kip said.
Victor turned to Mme. Dieuleveult with mock sadness. “You see that sorcery is not the only obstacle. We must also convince those in need of our help that it will benefit them, when they have constructed an entire belief around worshipping their affliction.”
“Perhaps,” she said, still doubtful.
Emily pulled Kip away before he could retort, and that was a good thing given how tempted he was to start a fire, either real or verbal. “Kip,” she hissed, “come here!”
He followed her to one side of the room. “That…that…son of a—”
She cut him off with a low whisper. “He kidnapped them, Kip.”
“It’s a good job you brought Peter,” he said, and then her words penetrated his anger. “What?”
“That’s why I brought Peter. Not to protect you, although he came in handy there too, thank you, Peter. It occurred to me that he would be more on his guard later, among just sorcerers, and if I could surprise him—which is why I didn’t tell you either, I’m sorry about that—we might have more success. And we did.”
Kip’s ears perked up and he gripped Emily’s arm. “Where are they?”
“He caught on,” she said. “Peter saw him picturing the students—all three of them—in stone cells, and then Victor pulled his hand away. But it’s in King’s College somewhere, Peter’s sure.”
“Then let’s go, right now.” He had magic in him already, singing to be used.
“We can’t. Kip, look, Victor was our strongest competition and she doesn’t like his spell. We can get their money in just another hour, and with Victor here, nothing’s going to happen to them. Peter said they were all alive in Victor’s mind.”
He clenched his jaw. “Yes, you’re right. But the moment Victor leaves—”
“We’ll leave too.”
“No.” Kip lowered his voice further. “He knows where they are.”
Emily took his meaning in a moment and set herself to object, then changed course. “You’re right. He’s kidnapped American citizens. As soon as the gala’s over, we’ll take him back to Peachtree.”
“He may be trained to resist spiritual magic readings,” Kip said. “But even then—”
“We’ve had those trainings too. We know how they can be broken,” Emily said darkly.
“I don’t mean…” Kip stared across the room at Victor. “Ruin his mind. I mean, we could negotiate with the Crown for the students’ return.”
“Well,” Emily said tightly, “that’s another option. Now I’m going to go put Peter back to make sure the school remains safe. Stay here and stay calm, for God’s sake.”
His tail had curled up tightly against his side; he let it relax. That simple action helped his mind relax as well. “All right,” he said. “But hurry back.”
“I will.” She left through the nearest door.
Kip leaned against the wall and watched Victor talk to two other nobles. His mind moved from a pleasant imagining of Victor telling them where to find their students back to the spell Victor claimed to be working on. It should have been clear to Kip the moment Victor brought Farley out on stage. Most of the audience would not have recognized Farley at the Exposition or understood his importance, but Kip and his friends did. This sorcery, if it were true, was a serious threat. If that spell got out and many sorcerers learned it…Calatians could be gone from the world in a generation. Many might choose to give up their magical nature in exchange for a less troubled life as a human.
Before he worked himself into a state over this, he wanted to see Victor—or Gupta—actually perform the sorcery, not just a simulation of it. He still doubted it was possible. Victor had a long history of claiming feats he could not or had not actually performed. That would be another thing they could ask him about after tonight.
Whatever happened, they were close to finding the students. The information sat here in the room with them, and likely they would have an answer before the night was out. He took heart from that.
Emily returned a moment later and took him by the arm. “There’s still time before the competition,” she said, guiding him back to Mme. Dieuleveult. “Can you tell the story of the Battle of the Road one more time?”
Kip splayed his ears. “As many times as the school needs,” he said, and when they reached the noblewoman, he obediently launched into the story, giving it as many thrilling notes as he could.
The telling gathered three or four more nobles, and at the end of it, Mme. Dieuleveult called several more over to hear Kip tell it again. This second time, he started with the arrival of the British ironclad rather than starting the story in the middle of the battle, and the French audience grew merry to hear about the defeat of the great metal ship. “These British think so much of themselves,” a Marquis said, “and yet they fall and perish like everyone else.”
“They have learned nothing from Babel,” another noble replied, and the answering murmur contained some laughter in it.
That merriment carried over into the part where the Road was destroyed and people burned to death in the boiling water, even though Kip tried to paint it somber. The nobles spoke French among themselves, and quickly, so Kip had little idea of what words they were saying, but their tone and laughter between remarks left no doubt of the meaning. In English, they only said, “Such a British thing to conceive one miracle and ruin another! What fools!”
As much as this boded well for their competition against Victor, the idea that people were laughing at such horrific deaths disconcerted him and made him lose his place in the story. He didn’t want to emphasize the horror of the people burned to death, so he skipped to the end and then s
earched for a reason to excuse himself.
“Your husband hasn’t come back,” he said to Mme. Dieuleveult. “Perhaps someone should go look for him?”
“He’ll be fine,” she said. “Duchess Trévise, was that not the most marvelous tale?”
The Duchess, a short woman wearing a large wig and an excessive amount of scented powder, agreed that it was, and then another Marquis wanted to ask Kip questions. He bore the conversation under Emily’s gaze, knowing they needed to curry favor, but after several questions he excused himself, saying that he would find M. Dieuleveult.
“Please do,” Mme. Dieuleveult said. “We should begin the competition momentarily.”
“Don’t be long,” Emily hissed at him.
Kip nodded his head toward Victor. “Keep an eye out,” he replied, and hurried to the side door where the Frenchman had exited.
Once the door was closed behind him, he leaned against the stone wall. The noise of the gathering faded to a murmur, though he could still pick out a loud phrase here and there. If he had to tell that story over and over again to secure the future of the Lutris School, he would, although he hadn’t realized it would be so much harder when the audience didn’t react appropriately, not to mention having to watch Victor, knowing that their students sat in stone jails somewhere.
He felt better just being away from the crowd for a short time. What Emily had said about people with money resonated with him, and he made a silent vow not to be a terrible person if ever he acquired enough wealth to move in these circles. Thus calmed, he placed a paw on the door handle to return and then he remembered that he had said he was going to find M. Dieuleveult. He should at least try to do that.
The noble had been going to check on the food, he’d said. This small room held two sideboards on which food could be prepared before being brought out to the party, but both of them were bare. One of the two doors at the back of the room was open, and as he approached, the sounds of activity and a low murmur of voices came to him. “Monsieur Dieuleveult?” he called out.