by Tim Susman
The voices fell silent. His fur prickled in the stillness. This didn’t feel right. He gathered magic and advanced cautiously on the door. Beyond he could see only an empty room with a large wooden table and part of a stove. Another step, and another, and then he saw the feet of a man lying on the floor, the fancy shoes the same color as the coat he’d seen M. Dieuleveult wearing.
12
Revolution
More than ever, Kip wished for Ash or a demon, someone he could send around the corner to see what awaited him in the room. He had to reach M. Dieuleveult, but whatever had struck the noble down could easily be waiting for him as well. So he stared at the far corner of the kitchen, the empty spot behind the wooden table, and translocated himself there.
It was risky because it exposed him to attack from anyone who could see him appear in that space, but he had that moment to spare and more. The group of four ragged men holding cudgels and iron bars remained focused on the doorway Kip had been calling from, standing over a prone form that was definitely M. Dieuleveult. Oddly, though this was a kitchen, there was no trace of the food he’d seen brought in on carts earlier that morning.
He cast a physical magic spell to hold all four of the men; it was difficult but he caught them before any could turn around. When he was sure they were immobilized, he walked around the table and knelt beside M. Dieuleveult under their impotent eyes.
The Frenchman had a mark on his forehead, an ugly red welt and a cut that had bled quite a bit, but he breathed well and appeared to be only unconscious, not in any serious danger. Kip straightened and met the eyes of the four men. “Now,” he said, “does one of you want to tell me what this is about?” He unbound, carefully, the head of one of them and called on his limited French. “Qu’est-ce que passe ici?”
Before he’d even finished the sentence, the man cried out, “Le sorcier! Tirez! Tirez!”
“Tirez!” The call echoed outside the kitchen.
“What?” Kip approached the man. “What did you say?”
“Vive la France!” the man cried, and then spit at Kip.
The fox dodged the projectile and was about to respond when a familiar smell tickled his nose. Behind the man lay an empty sack that smelled faintly of pitch.
Pitch implied fire. Kip sent his awareness out into the castle and yes, there were fires, but the mansion was full of candles and fireplaces. New ones sprang up, and he reached out to pull them back when he felt them starting, but he could only reach out to one at a time and they were spreading fast. And while he could quench fires from anywhere, he couldn’t see what other things the attackers might be doing in the castle. He and Emily had to warn everyone and get everyone to safety.
But he couldn’t leave M. Dieuleveult lying here, could he? He decided in an instant: the man was safe enough with the attackers immobilized. He’d come back for him.
He ran through the staging room and burst back into the party, seeking out Emily and Mme. Dieuleveult, who fortunately stood together in a small crowd of people. Kip pushed his way through nobles. “There’s an attack,” he gasped out. “Everyone’s in danger. M. Dieuleveult is hurt.”
“What?” Mme. Dieuleveult looked bewildered.
Emily was more used to acting in a crisis. “Where?” she asked tightly.
“Back in the kitchen,” Kip said. “But there are more of them. I don’t know how many or where. There’s fires starting all through the castle.”
“We need to get out of here.” Emily turned to Mme. Dieuleveult. “Come with me.”
“I will not leave,” she said. “We are in the middle of a gala.”
“They’ve attacked your husband.” Kip gestured toward the kitchen. “Emily, where can we take him?”
Emily brushed an invisible strand of hair back from her face. “Nowhere in Paris. Amsterdam?”
“What about our school? We know it well and know it’s safe.”
“Now, listen,” Mme. Dieuleveult said. “You will not take my husband anywhere.”
“Come and see for yourself, but he needs—” Kip stopped. They didn’t have a healer at the Lutris School. “He needs to be somewhere safe.”
He strode for the kitchen without waiting for permission. Behind him, Mme. Dieuleveult made an exasperated noise and then spoke loudly in French to the room, saying something about the competition beginning soon. Then she and Emily followed Kip into the small room and on to the kitchen.
At first, Mme. Dieuleveult saw only the immobilized attackers. “Who are these ruffians and what has been done to them?” she asked.
The one whose mouth Kip had freed said something in French, and the lady replied, “Ne dit pas des bêtises,” which Kip understood to mean “don’t say stupid things.” She was about to say more, but then she took a step further and shrieked, “Bertrand!”
She ran to her husband’s side and called his name again. Kip hurried over. “He’s alive,” he said.
“We must get him to our bedroom. We have cloths there, and he’ll be more comfortable. We can send for the doctor.”
“Can’t you smell the smoke?” The odor stung Kip’s nostrils. “It’s not safe here.”
“Can’t you keep us safe? I thought you were a fire sorcerer,” she snapped.
“I can stop fires, but there are attackers all over the castle,” Kip retorted.
Emily stepped forward. “We can put out the fires, perhaps even stop this attack completely. But the riots are going on all over Paris. It’s not going to be safe anywhere for nobles, maybe not for a long time.”
In the ensuing silence, they heard shouts from the gala; the smell of smoke must have reached them. Mme. Dieuleveult half-stood, staring off in that direction, then knelt next to her husband again. “Bertrand,” she said softly.
“I can take him to our school in America,” Kip said. The smoke drifted into the room, visible now. He could sense the warmth and strength of the fires around him. “You and Emily go back to the gala and get everyone out.”
“I can bring three people at a time back to America,” Emily said. “It will be safer there than anywhere in France, I think.”
“What do you know of France?” Mme. Dieuleveult shot back, but her eyes were wide and afraid.
“I have been to the Academie today,” Emily replied calmly. “Almost all the sorcerers have fled Paris. Only a few remain to guard the King himself.”
Beneath her makeup, the noble lady paled. “I—then—There are a few things I want to fetch.”
“We haven’t time—”
She cut off Emily’s protest, standing. “I have a good deal of jewelry. If you wish to receive any payment from me, we will go to my room.”
“I don’t care about payment,” Emily said. “I want to save your life.”
“You can take me as easily from upstairs as downstairs, non? Then we will go upstairs. Come.” She turned to Kip. “Take my husband.”
Kip nodded and knelt, resting a paw on the unconscious man’s chest. Behind him, the attacker spat something in French, to which Mme. Dieuleveult responded coldly. They went back and forth twice more before he began to shout curses at her.
“They do not speak English,” she said to Kip in a tone just as cold. “I told him they will be left here imprisoned to burn.”
“I won’t do that.” Kip looked up at her.
She nodded back to him. “I know you will not.” And then she swept her dress around her and gestured for Emily to follow her. “Come.”
When they’d gone, Kip locked the door out to the salon with a spell so the attackers couldn’t follow when he unbound them. To help with the damage as much as he could, he reached out to the largest fires he could feel and drew their fierce hunger into himself, extinguishing them. Then he visualized Emily’s office and pulled himself and M. Dieuleveult there.
He put a paw over his eyes to shield them from the bright afternoon light streaming through the windows. M. Dieuleveult lay before him on the carpet, still unconscious. Kip sat back on his heels. If this
were the only casualty of the attack, they would be extremely lucky. He should go back and put out the rest of the fires.
The image of the kitchen swam back into his mind and he released the four men he’d bound as his wartime instincts ran through the situation to find the best place for his talents to help. Emily would be helping get the nobles out of the Salon and probably could handle that on her own; if he put out fires then the revolutionaries would keep setting them, or would attack in other ways.
What they really needed was a healer to treat M. Dieuleveult and any other injuries. De Koning might be available in Amsterdam, but Kip had been to Chakrabarti’s hotel and could go back there directly. Perhaps the sorcerer had stayed in Amsterdam to visit the city? He’d said something of the sort to Kip, or maybe Kip was only imagining that. At any rate, it was easy to send himself to the hotel lobby.
The clerk at the desk almost jumped when Kip appeared. “Yes?” he said crossly.
“Is a sorcerer named Chakrabarti still staying here?” Kip asked. “I’m sorry for the appearance. It’s an emergency.”
“Can’t your master contact him directly?” The clerk pointed toward the stairs. “The Indian sorcerers are still here. Some of them, at least. I don’t know whether yours is one of them.”
“I’ll go look, then. Thank you.” There wasn’t time to correct the clerk about Kip’s “master,” nor to ask him to look in the record. He remembered Chakrabarti’s room, so he hurried up the stairs.
To his immense relief, the sorcerer answered the door himself. “Master Penfold?”
“There’s an emergency,” Kip said. “Can you come with me?”
The man took only a moment before saying, “Yes, of course.”
He reached out and took Kip’s proffered paw, and Kip transported them back to Emily’s office.
Emily and Mme. Dieuleveult stood by Emily’s desk, the latter holding a large valise which she released to the ground. “You left my husband alone!” she cried.
“He was safe here,” Kip said, “and I went to get a healer for him. This is Master Chakrabarti. Master, this is Mme. Dieuleveult and that is her husband, who was struck on the head.”
“We are no longer in Europe,” Chakrabarti observed, kneeling next to the unconscious man.
“We are in America, in East Georgia at the Lutris School,” Kip said, and then, to Emily, “What happened to the other guests?”
“We had to retrieve the valuables first,” she replied, keeping most of the disgust out of her tone. “Some of the other sorcerers rescued guests, others just left. I’m going back to see if anyone else needs help.”
Without waiting for anyone to give permission or contradict her, she vanished. “Really,” Mme. Dieuleveult said. “What am I to do now?”
“I suppose we should find you a place to stay.” Kip ran through possibilities in his mind. “My parents have an extra room in their house. Or you could stay in my bedroom until arrangements are made. My wife and I will be away for a few days.” The missing students would not be found soon nor easily, he suspected, now that they’d lost their chance with Victor.
“I certainly do not imagine I will be here longer than a day.” Mme Dieueleveult looked out the window, shielding her eyes. “I have family in Rheims and they will have a place for us to stay while this unpleasantness passes.”
“I can heal this man,” Chakrabarti said, “but he will remain asleep. If you wish, you may wake him afterwards.”
“Let him sleep.” Mme. Dieuleveult’s voice softened. “The less he must experience of this, the better.”
As Chakrabarti worked, the Frenchwoman asked Kip, “How did you chance to meet this sorcerer?”
So Kip told her of their meeting at the Exposition, and that Chakrabarti was one of the sorcerers he was hoping to bring to the school with her money. “I’m certain he will be a great teacher.”
“He’s a competent healer,” she said. “Bertrand has no more mark on his head.”
“No.” Chakrabarti straightened and joined them. “The blow was not strong. His injury was not severe.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” Mme Dieueleveult returned to looking cross. “What an inconvenience this is. Could they not have waited one more night? We would have given such a lovely gala.”
“What has happened?” Chakrabarti asked, so Kip and Mme. Dieuleveult took it in turns to tell him, until they were interrupted by Emily returning with two more nobles, a Marquis and Marquise.
“There are two more couples.” Emily patted the nobles, who looked terrified. “I’ll be back shortly. Kip, I think Bryce should be aware that we will have some French nobles with us for a period of time.”
“I’ll see to it,” he said.
She took him aside. “I looked for Victor,” she said in a low voice. “He was gone, of course, at the first sign of trouble. Patris at least stayed around to help get some people to safety.”
Mme. Dieuleveult came over to them, color rising in her cheeks. “It will not be ‘a period of time.’ A day at most, until we can meet with my cousins. I cannot speak for everyone else.”
“Fine,” Emily said. “Please excuse me.” And with that, she disappeared.
Mme. Dieuleveult stared for a moment at Kip and then turned back to the other French nobles. “Marie, Jean, you have family around Lyon, do you not?”
The Marquis and Marquise slipped into French, and the three of them chattered away. “I hate to ask this,” Kip said to Chakrabarti in a low voice, “but can you remain here for a few moments until I return? I have to get our mayor and secure accommodations for these people.”
“Of course.” Chakrabarti smiled. “I am pleased to be helpful in whatever way I can.”
“Thank you so very much.”
“Please.” The other sorcerer bowed his head. “This adventure may not measure up to some of your tales, but it is quite thrilling for me. To be in the story of a revolution!”
Mme. Dieuleveult heard this and turned. “This is not a revolution,” she stated. “It is an uprising, and it will be put down in due course. We have lived through others.”
Kip did not have a great experience of uprisings, so he did not feel qualified to say whether this one was different. They might not know for days or even weeks; if the King survived and held his power, then Mme. Dieuleveult might be correct. But from what Emily had said, it sounded like the French sorcerers did not believe this was just another uprising.
Regardless, his immediate duty was to accommodate their visitors (he did not want to think of them as refugees yet). So he translocated to the town square and set out to find Bryce Morgan.
The hedgehog spent most days in his office, and Kip found him there in discussion with a pair of squirrels in some kind of dispute. “It’s an emergency,” Kip said. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”
One of the squirrels looked put out by the interruption, but they agreed to return later in the afternoon. Kip explained the situation to Bryce, and the hedgehog snorted. “Bringing refugees back here again? I thought you’d broken that habit, Penfold. All right, let me see what room we have here.”
“It’s only a few of them.” Kip smiled as Bryce walked to the wall to consult the map of the town. “French nobles, needing to stay here while the government deals with an…uprising.”
“Only an uprising?” Bryce turned around. “You made it sound like a revolution.”
“I think it is. But I don’t know; I only saw the attack on the estate we were in and the riots in Paris.”
“Riots are not revolution. When we did it, we planned out our actions.”
“We also lay across an ocean from the King,” Kip pointed out. “We had the luxury of time. These people look up at the palace every day. At least, some of them do. I don’t know where the French king lives, to be honest.”
The hedgehog went back to the map. “I hope for their sake it is just an uprising. Let’s see here.”
He pointed out four families who might have room, and Kip offered
that some of the rooms in the school might also be available. Between them, he felt they had enough space set aside by the time he returned to Emily’s office.
She sat behind her desk with her head on her arms as the half-dozen people in the room (not counting M. Dieuleveult) chattered rapidly back and forth in French. Chakrabarti had retreated to the window behind Emily, but perked up and came forward when Kip reappeared.
Mme. Dieuleveult also made for Kip as soon as he returned, and she arrived first. “I have decided,” she said, “that we will accept your generous offer to share your quarters with us. May we go there immediately? My husband needs rest.”
“Of course,” Kip said, and raised his voice. “For everyone else, there are rooms here at the school. If they are not to your liking, there will be families in town with space. Our mayor is going around to ask them to provide quarters for any of you who wish them.”
A few of the people stared blankly at him until Mme. Dieuleveult spoke in French. “I have said your words to them,” she told Kip, and then, as they crowded around, said, “They have questions.”
Most of the questions were easily answered (everyone wanted to know when they could go home, and Kip had to explain that he and Emily could only go to places they’d already been), but one particularly flushed and angry man kept demanding, according to Mme. Dieuleveult, “why the Americans have ruined our country.”
Like the sorcerer, this noble claimed that since the American Revolution, the riots and “uprisings” had grown in scope and frequency, with this one being the last straw. “Without the Americans,” the Frenchman said through Mme. Dieuleveult, “they would not be so bold as to steal our food and burn our homes.”
Her voice faltered as she relayed this last part, and without waiting for Kip’s response, she strode to Emily’s desk and rapped on it. “Miss Carswell,” she said. “Miss Carswell!”
Emily raised her head and rubbed at her forehead. To Kip, she looked pale. “Yes?”
“We must go back. There are paintings that must be saved.”