Messura was a huge man with broad shoulders and dark brown skin. There weren’t many Moors, or blacks, as some of them liked to be called, living in Sherwood City, but Tiberius had met a few now and then on market day. They were more common around the City of Walsingham and points south. Messura had a face like a frog, but the eyes were what you noticed first. They were quite piercing and had almost a hypnotic power to them. Next was the voice. Messura had a musical, lyrical voice that commanded attention. For now he gave Tiberius a polite greeting, though his eyes gave you the sense he’d learned much in a quick glance.
Ian was the youngest of the three. He was about the same age as Tiberius. He had a long but cheerful face, and he stepped up to greet Tiberius.
“Hello! You’re the new math student? Yes? Excellent! Good at math are you? You can give me a few pointers. I’m Dallen’s apprentice. I’m supposed to be learning math, but so far Dallen hasn’t had enough magic in him to make that possible. Don’t mind Singh over there. He’s not unfriendly, just busy, best not to disturb him or he’ll blow the place up again.”
“I did not ‘blow the place up,’” Singh protested, without looking up. “Simply an unexpected pyrotechnical display. No harm done.”
Ian gestured a rather larger explosion than that, but said no more.
Dallen started in on mathematics, and soon Ti’s wonder at clocks and birds and automata was lost to the study of calculus and trigonometry. It was complicated stuff, but Dallen was a good teacher and able to explain things so that he could understand. By the time lunch had rolled around, Ian and Tiberius had worked though a number of complicated problems in elementary trigonometry.
At twelve-thirty, there was a quiet knock on the door, and Mr. Eumaios looked in at the doorway.
“Pencils down, gentlemen. An empty stomach is a poor companion. You’ll join us for lunch, Master Fuller?” Dallen asked.
Ti stopped midway in the act of taking out his lunch bag. The question of lunch hadn’t really come up, as Mr. Johnson had simply told Tiberius to ride over to Mr. Dallen’s estate, rather than his regular classes. Ti had brought his typical ham sandwich and slice of apple pie with him, not expecting to be fed. His mother was a passable cook, but he was a bit tired of the same old lunch. He weighed that versus the prospect of accidentally consuming some mystic potion. But then, no one had said he couldn’t eat the food here.
“If it wouldn’t be an imposition, sir,” Ti said at last, politely.
Dallen cast a glance at the lunch bag in Ti’s hand. “I should have mentioned it earlier, but there is no need for you to bring lunch. Mr. Eumaios is an excellent chef. What are we having today, Mr. Eumaios?”
“Chicken croquets with gravy, sugar snap peas, and cornbread stuffing, sir. A light fruit cup for desert.”
“Excellent. You’re welcome to bring your own lunch if you prefer, but I think you’ll find Mr. Eumaios quite satisfactory. It’s no imposition on me; on the contrary, I enjoy sharing my table with guests.”
Tiberius put the sacked lunch back in his school bag. “Well, if you put it that way, sir, I’d be glad to join you.”
“I do. Come, Singh, that will have to wait.”
“Just as well. The titanium content is not what I had envisioned,” Singh said, frowning.
They gathered around the table in the dining room. This had a large cherrywood table, just right for the six of them. There was no table cloth, but six lace placemats had been carefully set out. There was plenty of sunlight, but there was also a standard kerosene lantern in the center of the table. The table was set with china plates, silver, clean white napkins, and crystal goblets. The magic trade apparently paid very well, Tiberius thought. There were fresh flowers on the table, too.
It was a cool day outside, but it was perfectly warm inside the house. The dining room had a small fireplace. Tiberius didn’t think it was really a big enough fire to be heating the room, but passing by, he noted some odd little fans around the edge of the fireplace and thought it must be more of Dallen’s magic.
Before long they were all seated, and Dallen had Messura lead them all in grace. Then Mr. Eumaios came round and filled all their glasses. He carried one pitcher, but it seemed to pour a variety of liquids, as Dallen and Ian asked for milk; Singh, orange juice; Messura took wine. Tiberius decided to be daring and ask for orange juice, which was a rare treat at this time of year. It might have been magic, but it was the best orange juice he’d ever had. Mr. Eumaios gave them all a glass of water from the same pitcher.
Then he brought round the plates and Tiberius took a bite of the chicken croquet. It was really excellent, he thought; he said so to Mr. Eumaios, who had already thanked him by the time Tiberius got around to wondering whether it was really proper to be thanking some sort of machine.
The conversation was nothing exotic or magical. Messura was talking about the quality of the theater in the city of Walsingham, where he apparently lived. Tiberius had seen some Shakespeare and liked what he had seen, so he was able to make at least a few intelligent replies. For dessert, Mr. Eumaios brought round some fruit cups filled with oranges and grapefruits, topped with just a dusting of caramelized sugar. Having such wonderful fruit available in the dead of winter was quite unheard of, and Tiberius was sure there must be some sort of black magic involved. However, as he actually didn’t see any, he decided there was no point in protesting.
After lunch it was back to work. By the end of the day, Tiberius had calmed down just a bit. No one had shown any signs of doing any sort of dark rituals around him. There were no naked women with dead animals and blood spattered all about. There was magic about to be sure, but it did seem altogether a different sort of magic than what he’d seen with the witches. Anyway, he had come here to learn math and was learning math. So, all in all, things seemed to be working out. He almost regretted that he wouldn’t be coming back again till Thursday, but they’d agreed twice a week was sufficient at present. He hadn’t exhausted all of Mr. Johnson’s knowledge after all.
Later that Saturday night, Tiberius was explaining things to Marybeth at a dance at the Claytons' house. The Claytons were a very well-to-do family in town, and they had a large house with a long room upstairs where they liked to invite the young people of town in to socialize and dance. The Claytons had three daughters of their own, and they were hoping to marry them off. Accordingly, the upper hall was frequently filled with music and dancing.
This Saturday was no exception. It found Tiberius dressed in his best black waistcoat, a ruffled shirt, knickers, and stockings, twirling Marybeth round the dance floor. She was dressed in a light pink dress with matching ribbons in her hair. Tiberius didn’t know the latest steps; his father never bothered about giving him more than one or two basic lessons. But Tiberius was a natural dancer and he managed to pick up most of the steps from his friends, or by watching.
As he’d expected, the news of his new career path got a sort of mixed review from Marybeth.
“It’s a good career,” she said as Tiberius spun her around with his arm around her waist. “And I’m glad you’re not going off to join the cavalry. But you won’t be dragging me off to some horrible place to build bridges will you?” she said.
Tiberius had to wait to answer, as the dance swept him away from Marybeth for a moment. He rhythmically marched round one of the Clayton girls twice before he was back in talking range of his own lady.
“Dad says the engineers are based in the capital,” he explained. “I probably will have to go build a bridge now and then, but I shouldn’t be gone for as long as all that. You’ll be quite comfortable with all the dances and social life of Port Elizabeth around you.”
“I’ll have to come with you sometimes, I suppose,” Marybeth said thoughtfully. “But, you’re right; it shouldn’t be so bad. I hear there is great society in the military.”
“I know you’ll enjoy that,” Tiberius said. “Besides, you’ll be busy raising our five children.”
Marybeth gave him a pl
ayful tap with her pink fan in mock indignation at his boldness. “Five children indeed, Mr. Fuller. That’s a fine thing to suggest to a respectable young woman. You’ll be talking country matters to me next.”
“I’d just like to see some little ones with your eyes, is all,” he said, smiling at her.
“All the same, it makes me a little nervous, you hanging about with all those horrible magicians,” Marybeth said, frowning.
“I was worried too, but they seem all right. Pastor Adams seems to like Mr. Dallen.”
“They haven’t done any magic around you, have they?”
“Just the birds like I told you. Ian joked about Singh blowing the place up, but I haven’t seen anything like that.”
“Blown up!” Marybeth looked horrified. “Oh Ti, I do wish you’d be careful.”
“I told you he was just joking.”
“I know, but I worry. I wish you wouldn’t keep reading all those books like the Illiad and Robin Hood.”
“You know I work in Dad’s print shop. We print all those books. I have to read them.”
“Couldn’t you just concentrate on whether the ink is smudged?”
“You should read more, Marybeth. I love reading about Charlemagne, Lionheart, the Paladins of Orlando, Henry the Fifth, El Cid, and Bruce of Scotland and the like. Those are real heroes and gentlemen.”
As if to emphasize his point, he gave her a bold lift and spin in the air in time with the music. Marybeth let out a small shriek, but landed on her feet, at least until Tiberius followed up by dipping her and giving her a peck on the cheek. When Marybeth had recovered enough to speak, she gave him another playful tap with her fan.
“They just put ideas in your head, Tiberius. The man I marry has to come home to me. At least you’re only looking to become an engineer, and not one of those horrible Rangers. I don’t know how anyone stands being married to one of them, with all of them plunging into every sort of danger imaginable. Just don’t let them talk you into doing any magic, whatever you do.”
“Don’t worry,” Tiberius said. “Dallen’s got an apprentice already. They don’t need me. I’m not becoming any sort of magician.”
∴
Twice a week, Tiberius spent the day apart from his regular lessons at school and made the trip over to Dallen’s mansion to study advanced mathematics. Dallen covered a few other related topics as well, such as basic science, mechanical drawing and the like. But he never tried to teach Tiberius any sort of magic.
Tiberius actually found the company agreeable on the whole. Ian was a cheerful fellow, Singh was remarkably intelligent, and Dallen was a pleasant master. He found them to have a surprisingly strong knowledge of Scripture, Shakespeare, history and the other liberal arts. Messura wasn’t around much, but he was entertaining when he did come.
Messura did the only thing resembling a spell that directly involved Tiberius. Ti showed up for class with a slight fever and the beginnings of a nasty cold. Messura had spotted it almost from the instant he walked in the door. He made Tiberius a cup of some sort of herbal tea, and by lunchtime all trace of the cold was gone.
One day, Singh wore an exceptionally large frown while observing a rock. Tiberius came and looked over his shoulder. The rock didn't seem to be doing anything.
“Do you need a fresh eye of newt?” he asked.
Singh looked back at him and blinked. “What the devil would I do with an eye of newt?”
“Why ask me? I thought you magicians always needed eye of newt or the entrails of a monkey or something.”
“Hmm? Oh, you’re making an allusion to the principals of sympathetic magic, a primitive concept that like produces like. None of that crude stuff here, my good man. We’re rather more sophisticated than that. Here we recognize that all true magic is directly connected to the human spirit. Our spirits are far greater than these fleshly vessels that contain us, and as such the trained and disciplined mind is able to make greater and more pronounced changes upon the world than the common man ever appreciates.
“Is that what you call magic?” Tiberius asked.
“Careful there,” Singh replied. “It almost sounds like you’re asking one of the really dangerous questions. What is magic after all? I asked myself that question one day and it’s led me to nothing but more and more questions. How do you turn lead into gold? What is gold? What is lead? What makes a metal what it is? What distinguishes one metal from another? How do we make mountains walk? Where do we want them to walk to? If you’re going to start asking real questions, you might be one of us before you know it.”
“I don’t think so. I’m a good Christian and will have nothing to do with magic.”
“Really?” Singh answered. “I trust you’ve no plans for looking at sunsets or listening to really good music.”
“That’s not magic,” Tiberius answered.
“Isn’t it? What is magic then? Astrology? Odd isn’t it, how the original magi were astrologers and yet they were among the very first followers of Christ? What about walking on water or killing a fig tree?”
“That’s different; those were miracles.”
“So I’m told. But then it isn’t what happens that makes something good or evil, is it? It’s the power source. Have you made a pact with Satan to gain power? Do you pray to other spirits before God, do you serve God, or do you use God to your own ends? We magi work our wonders in the service of God. We may bend the rules a bit, but I’d like to think that God will judge us by the fruits of our labors. In our wake the sick are healed, the innocent defended, and good news preached.”
“Seems to me that it’s playing with fire at the very least,” Tiberius said.
“You know, with your attitude, it’s a pity you won’t join us,” Singh said.
“What do you mean?” Tiberius asked, startled.
“Well, it’s clear to me that you love God and want to serve Him. You’ve obviously got a good grip on mathematics, or you wouldn’t be here at all. You’ve also got a healthy respect for the dangers of magic. Magic means using the very building blocks of the universe. It’s a delicate art. In the wrong hands it can be a terrible source of evil. But you’re the sort of chap I’d like to see able to use magic, simply because you don’t trust it and would always be reluctant to use it.”
“He’s right you know,” Dallen said, coming up suddenly behind him. “Someone like you who doesn’t like magic is really the ideal candidate. It’s the man too eager to be given power that shouldn’t be given it.”
“I’m not here to learn magic,” Tiberius said firmly.
“I know,” Dallen said. “I’m not trying to persuade you to do anything. I simply note that you could be one of us if you so chose. We could teach you to heal the sick, and defend the innocent from those who would use magic, not in God’s service, but for their own ends. Many people can become engineers, but only a few would I trust with God’s own thunderbolts. You should know that the option is open to you.”
“Thank you,” Tiberius said, “but I think I’ll stick with engineering.”
Dallen simply nodded and changed the subject to math. Tiberius stuck to his lessons, but a small voice inside his head nagged at him as he worked on the math problems with Ian. Perhaps he was taking too literal a reading of the Bible. After all, the magi had served Christ. He’d talk to his pastor about it, but Tiberius very much doubted that he would change his mind, regardless of what his pastor said.
Chapter III
Omens
A lightning quick stroke lashed out and Tiberius countered with an equally fast parry. A late summer’s day in S.R. 297 found Tiberius in Mr. Okubo’s backyard keeping up with his quarterstaff work. Tiberius had progressed enough with his katas that Mr. Okubo was now doing a bit of sparring with him. This was a lot like sparring with Marcus, in that Tiberius lost all the time. Still, at least he was losing with more dignity and didn’t get dunked into the creek every time he lost. He could tell that Mr. Okubo was a lot better at this than his brother had ever b
een. He might still be losing, but at least he was learning something.
“Oww!” he said as Mr. Okubo gave him a rap on the foot with his staff.
“Pay attention; don’t let him distract you.”
“Him?” Tiberius said.
“Gillyian, yes. Ignore him. A knight must not be distracted in battle. There will be many distractions. A friend dies, a tank appears, a woman watches the battle. Be aware of your surroundings, but stay focused on the battle you fight.”
“Yes, Sensei. What’s a tank?”
“Never mind. It’s an Old World siege engine. The ban prohibits them here,” he explained, resuming their sparring.
After a time Mr. Okubo called a halt. “That was better. You’re making progress. We will make a proper knight of you yet.”
Tiberius gave a slight bow in acknowledgment. Then, turning to look over his shoulder, he glanced towards the woods in the distance. Mr. Okubo’s house was a bit further out than the Fuller residence. The backyard looked out on some park land, which was handy as a fletcher needed an archery range in his backyard.
“Is it just me, or is that elf starting to crop up more and more?” Tiberius asked.
Mr. Okubo smiled at him. “You are making progress with your meditation. As your mind gains discipline, you become more resistant to the simple glamour spells of the wood folk. Pastor Adams has started you on the apologetics, hasn’t he?”
“Apologetics? Oh, you mean Chesterton, George MacDonald, and the like.”
“The Christian writers, yes. Your mind gains strength and you see what’s been hidden before,” Mr. Okubo explained.
Path of the Magi (Tales of Tiberius) Page 5