The Locksmith

by Howe, Barbara;

  The earth witch went through the Fortress healing damage to the residents’ hearing, starting with the small children down below. When she reached me, she looked dead on her feet, and could have used a healer herself.

  For all the heat and noise, the attack didn’t seem to accomplish much other than shattering more windows. I asked Beorn about that, and he said, “You’re right, we’re well protected. They didn’t do much to us, but they took a serious beating. They’ll have to change tactics. They can’t afford many frontal assaults like that.”

  “But, Beorn, what do they think they can do, when everyone knows the Fortress is impenetrable?”

  “How do you know it’s impenetrable?”

  “Because everyone… Oh, I suppose I don’t know that. But no one has breached it in a thousand years. That’s a pretty good record.”

  “That’s a scorching incredible record. But for centuries, our enemies were in such chaos they couldn’t mount a solid attack. The Empire has been growing and hardening its armies, and has many talented wizards working for it, drawn from a larger population. If we were fighting army to army we’d never have a chance.”

  “But the Office—”

  “The Office is unlike any other defences they’ve ever dealt with, and they don’t understand it. They think they’ll find its breaking point if they increase their firepower enough. Who knows? Maybe they will someday. The point is, they don’t know that they can’t. And even if they can’t, they think we’ll give up if they keep up a siege for long enough.”

  I shuddered. “It can’t surrender, can it?”

  “No, it can’t. It’ll let everyone inside the Fortress die, or kill us itself if we try to surrender. They stand a much better chance of bringing down an individual Fire Warlock. They can’t attack with as much power as we have from Storm King, and as long as the Warlock stays inside the Fortress, he can keep going for a good long time before he gets too tired to fight. But if they were to catch him outside the Fortress, they could kill him. There’s nothing in the way of firepower that can hurt him, of course, but if an earth wizard were to drop a ton of rocks on him, or a water wizard dropped a lake on him, they could kill him all right.”

  “But Beorn, why would he ever need to leave the Fortress?”

  He hesitated a moment, then said, “To rescue hostages. He scared the townsfolk into moving up to the Fortress before the threat got serious. The Guild Council’s argument had some merit, but keep that under your hat, if you please. The issue wasn’t their safety as much as it was his. And ours. If the Empire ever kills off all the warlocks who could be Officeholders, Frankland will be in one hell of a mess.”

  The Fortress Overrun

  I perched on the edge of a chair in the Warlock’s study, twisting my hands together in my lap. Would I look calmer if I sat on them? Probably not. I sat on them anyway.

  Warlock Sunbeam sauntered into the study wearing his usual cheerful smile; Warlock Flint marched in wearing a scowl. The Warlock described my abilities, my lock, and the probe. Flint looked thunderous. Even Sunbeam looked distressed.

  Flint interrupted the Warlock’s account of my training. “What kind of nonsense is this? Do you think we will stand by quietly while you try to take over the council by putting an unqualified bootlicker on it?”

  I recoiled as if he had slapped me. Arturos squeezed my shoulder.

  The Warlock clipped off his words. “Did you hear anything I said? She does not appear to be a high-level talent because she is hiding her abilities under a lock. Lucinda, release your lock so they may see.”

  Warlock Flint was a fine example of the kind of wizard I wanted to hide my talents from. The little flame stuck at the end of the verse and refused to budge. Flint glared at me, tapping his foot, then got up and was halfway towards the door when I did manage to release it. Sunbeam gasped; his eyes widened. Flint swung around, eyes narrowed. He glared at me and then at the Warlock.

  “I don’t know how you did that, but you’re not fooling me. I’ll not have her on the council. You should be ashamed of yourself. Nostradamus’s and Venturous’s ashes aren’t even cold.” He turned on heel and stalked out of the room. The Warlock glared after him in stony silence, making no move to stop or reason with him.

  If Flint came to one of our practice sessions, I would show the Warlock I could flame somebody.

  Sunbeam bowed over my hand. “I’m sorry for that dreadful scene. You have impressed me, and I’m glad to know about you.” He turned an accusing eye on the Warlock. “But, really, Jean, you should have told us about her as soon as you found out. Why have you kept it a secret for more than three months?”

  The Warlock said through clenched teeth, “I could not trust Nostradamus to keep the secret, and I would have been remiss in putting her in danger before she could defend herself.”

  Sunbeam looked bewildered. “Danger? What danger?”

  “Have you forgotten there is a war on? The Emperor will lavish riches on any wizard who reduces the ranks of our potential Officeholders.”

  “The Office is getting to you, Jean. I can’t imagine they would attack a mere girl. I think this secrecy is unnecessary. I shan’t allow it when I am the Warlock.”

  He turned back to me and bowed. His good humour restored, he walked out of the study, humming to himself, leaving the Warlock fuming, Arturos looking disgusted, and me dismayed.

  I abandoned the baking. The McNamara witches vied with Mrs Cole for control of the kitchen, and made it clear I was not welcome. I was not scared of Jenny or her mother, but I couldn’t tell them why, so I stayed away, only chatting with Mrs Cole over supper.

  With hundreds of people living in the Fortress, the space that had once seemed huge and quiet was full of noise and bustle. We ate in shifts because the dining room wasn’t big enough. Perhaps it was just as well there was such a huge throng at dinner; the Warlock and Flint never ate during the same shift. Everyone knew they had never gotten along, but that they’d stopped speaking to each other at all went unnoticed.

  Compared to that breach in the Fire Guild Council, the one-sided feud that got everyone’s attention was a burning twig in a raging bonfire.

  For several days, Jenny threw venomous glares from across the room as I sat down at dinner with Master Sven, but she didn’t come any closer and I ignored her. Then one day Master Sven left the table before I did. I was talking to Master Thomas when Jenny sat down across the table.

  She smiled at the librarian and said, “It’s a shame nobody likes to sit next to Master Sven.”

  He looked surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s a shame nobody likes to talk to Master Sven.”

  He looked at me, eyebrows raised. I had seen Master Sven and Master Thomas talking like old friends many times. I spread my hands and shrugged. Other scholars nearby were listening, and looking puzzled, too.

  Still looking at Master Thomas, she said, “It’s a shame nobody could get hurt if she doesn’t stay away from Master Sven.”

  I said, “Will you start talking sense?”

  She glared at me. “Listen, Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth-who-called-herself-nobody. You’re not good enough for Master Sven.”

  “Neither is a two-bit witch who’s jealous of a nobody.”

  She turned bright red and raised her wand. If she flamed me I would have to let her hurt me. I flung myself backwards, overturning my chair.

  A gust of flame raced down the table between us.

  “Enough!”

  Everyone in the dining room but me froze at the crackling fire in the Warlock’s voice. I fought to regain my balance. The clatter of my chair was loud in the sudden silence.

  “Is the world outside not such a dangerous place that we must fight amongst ourselves?”

  Jenny’s eyes rolled towards the Warlock, showing white all around.

  “I d
o not tolerate threats to any of my guests. Any flames thrown in anger or malice within the Fortress will rebound on the thrower. Your shields will not protect you. Do you understand?”

  A few voices whispered, “Yes, Your Wisdom.”

  The crackle intensified. “Do you understand?”

  We roared back, “Yes, Your Wisdom.”

  The polite, urbane voice returned. “Very well. Enjoy your dinner.”

  No one moved as he strolled out of the dining room, then they turned as one to stare at me. I fled to my room, where I threw myself on my bed and hugged my pillow, fighting down the urge to go back and blast Jenny across the dining room.

  She wasn’t that important. She didn’t interest Master Sven even before I turned up. He wasn’t going to marry either of us. If only she knew.

  My secret was still safe. I rolled over and laughed. I had done a splendid impersonation of a mundane girl running in terror from a fire witch.

  The next time the enemy attacked, curiosity won out over fear. René, Master Sven, and I huddled together to watch from an arrow slit in one of the lower tiers. The fire and lightning lit up the night as bright as day, but the lightning dazzled my eyes, and the Empire’s wizards were too far away for me to see. The Warlock strolled along the ramparts, wearing only a singlet and leggings despite the bitter cold. René and I laughed at Master Sven who started up with a shout the first time the Warlock dove into a snow bank to cool off.

  In the distance, the forest burned. The town looked like an island with a river of fire flowing around it.

  I asked, “Why isn’t the town burning?”

  Master Sven said, “It may yet. There are protective spells on it, but if the siege goes on for long, they may buckle under the strain. If they do, the other members of the Guild Council will be hard-pressed to keep up with putting out the fires.”

  After that night, the enemy changed tactics, as Beorn had predicted they would. There were no more intense, concentrated attacks. Instead, they took turns, and kept up a steady, constant drumbeat of wind, fire, stones, and hail against the Fortress. The Warlock stopped coming down into the practice room, and was frequently distracted during the brief period in the evening when we met to go over the spells making up the Office.

  He reminded people at dinner to avoid the unnecessary use of magic. By the fourth time, he sounded quite testy, and threatened to start slapping down geases right and left on people who didn’t behave. I asked Beorn if anyone, Flint perhaps, was trying to blind the Warlock.

  He said, “No, Flint despises the Warlock, but he does, at least, take the Office seriously. Sunbeam’s the biggest problem.”

  “Why? Because he loves to show off so much?”

  “Yep, especially in front of pretty girls.”

  “I noticed.”

  Beorn laughed. “How much of what he tried to impress you with could you already do? He’s been showing off all his life, and doesn’t get how much the noise interferes with the Office’s listening spells. He’ll agree to reduce his magic use, and forget and do something huge half an hour later.”

  “Can’t the Warlock do anything about it?”

  Beorn shrugged. “He’s already put a shield over Sunbeam’s apartment. He’s been talking about confining him there. You can imagine that won’t go down well with either Sunbeam or Flint.”

  The never-ending gloom and noise kept everyone on edge all winter. Despite the shutters, windows shattered with such regularity that only witches and wizards capable of holding a shield spell dared walk through the outer corridors. Both Arturos’s and Master Sven’s repairs became impossible to distinguish from the Warlock’s from more than inches away.

  Wizards and scholars yelled at each other in the hallways over jostled elbows and trod-upon toes, and the earth witch had to patch up more than one hothead who forgot the Warlock’s stricture against flaming other guests. The mildest of the scholars threw a temper tantrum in the middle of the library. Even the affable Mrs Cole lost her temper, and ordered several junior witches out of her kitchen.

  The Warlock confined both Sunbeam and Flint to their apartments. No one but the earth witch knew what had happened in the confrontation between the Warlock and Flint, but it was rumoured she collapsed from exhaustion after patching Flint up, and one of the guards had to carry her back to her room.

  Jenny didn’t try to flame me again, but she and several of her friends spread malicious gossip about me, and tried to intimidate me at every opportunity. I didn’t have the time or energy to worry much about the gossip, and the bullying didn’t work. That set of witches was so inept I couldn’t lose a verbal sparring match with them even if I tried. Many of the townsfolk gave me surreptitious thumbs-up as few of them liked the McNamaras, but none of them came out openly in my support.

  I became a hermit.

  I hated the jostling, and couldn’t afford to lose my temper with Jenny and her friends, so I spent my time in either my bedroom or the practice room, venturing out only for meals and books. René and I both slept in the practice room to get away from the noise.

  I would sit in the dark, well after René was asleep, brooding over the Fire Warlock. His every move fascinated me; his physical presence was so compelling that I was instantly aware whenever he entered a room. What would his life have been like if he hadn’t become Fire Warlock so young? Would Jean Rehsavvy, Flame Mage, have still loved the Frost Maiden, or would he have married a fire witch? There was a vast, unbridgeable gulf between the Fire Warlock and me, but if he had been just Warlock Quicksilver…

  Sometimes, too, I brooded about Terésa. She could have been my sister, and I thought I knew her as well as I knew myself. Often in recent years, her tragedy had been cast as a cautionary tale against women setting their sights too high. Terésa, a level three witch, should never have chased a warlock, or so the playwright seemed to say. What then, was I, a level five, to do? I could not set my sights any lower. I would terrify any man who was not a warlock.

  What kind of magic would it take to hold off the fierce heat of the volcano? What would Terésa have done if she had known her shield against fire would not hold up against it? Would she have run away, determined never again to see the Warlock she loved? Or would she have stayed by his side, close enough to touch but not daring to? Or would she have dared touch him, despite the foreknowledge that it would mean certain death?

  No. She wasn’t suicidal. Neither was I.

  Fool. The Fire Warlock wanted an orderly succession, and for the Fire Office to be rebuilt. He said so himself. Terésa’s Warlock loved her. Mine needed my help. Grow up and get over him.

  “Beorn,” I said, “how long can the siege go on?”

  “Don’t know. We’re in stalemate. Jean’s got them boxed in so they can’t break away from the Fortress and attack any of the cities, so they’re not doing us much damage. The Empire’s wizards are working together to protect whoever’s turn it is to attack, so ever since they stopped the all-out assaults he’s not gotten many opportunities to deal them serious damage either. They could keep this up for a long time—years, decades even.”

  “Decades? We’ve only been under siege a few months, and we’re already at each other’s throats.”

  The Chessmaster’s prediction that I would be the Warlock’s downfall was ever present in my mind. I was certain the war would not last years, much less decades.

  “They’re wearing him down, aren’t they?”

  “Yep,” he said. “It’s just a matter of time before they make him lose control.”

  Our progress on the Warlock’s notes about the Office slowed, as he could not maintain his concentration on anything other than the Empire’s wizards for long stretches. He would pace up and down the room while Beorn and I struggled through his notes without him, saving questions for when he looked least distracted. He developed hollow cheeks and bags under his eyes, and never got enough sle
ep. I watched, and worried, and daydreamed.

  I ached for him, body and soul, and I wished there was something, anything, that I could do to help. How could I be afraid of him, when I was so afraid for him?

  A Wish Granted

  René asked, “How many kinds of shields are there?”

  Beorn shrugged. “More than I can count. There are shields against just about anything that can hurt you. Knives, missiles, wasps, lava…”

  My ears pricked up. Lava?

  “Against lightning?”

  “Sure, but like the lightning itself, you have to be a warlock to handle it. You could use it in a storm, but you wouldn’t want to use it in a fight.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a shield against anything that dangerous is a serious drain. If you try to protect yourself in a fight against everything a wizard can throw at you, you can’t keep the shields up for more than a few minutes. You’ll get so tired you can’t fight back. That’s why we’ve focused on a simple mirror shield…”

  There’s a shield against lava? I picked up the textbook Master Sven had given us and thumbed through it. There was nothing there a level three witch couldn’t handle.

  The Warlock had called me a queen, hadn’t he? Humbug. The never-ending exercises in self-defence and handling fire were turning me into more of a drudge than I’d been in the kitchen. If being a warlock was about being in control, it was high time I took control of my own life.

  I haunted the library in my limited spare time, looking for the spell for the lava shield. If I had asked for help, either Master Sven or Master Thomas could have found it for me right away, but I wasn’t willing to explain why I wanted it.

  I found it after a week. Dangerous, the book said. Needs constant maintenance. Letting one’s attention wander in a lava field would be deadly.

  Terésa, a level three witch, would not have been able to use this shield.