Path of Stone: A Novel in the Alastair Stone Chronicles

by R. L. King

  “Of course she didn’t,” Kerrick agreed. “It was a good thing you came along and frightened them off, sir. The girl’s mother would like to talk to you, when you’re feeling up to it.”

  “We’ll see,” he said. Suddenly, he had no desire to keep dwelling on the situation. He hadn’t done anything heroic. Hell, he’d been terrified the whole time. Rosemary was fine, and that was all he cared about. He’d have to go talk to the police later today, no getting out of that, but being away from the house for a while might be a good thing. It would save him moping around like one of the ghosts he’d joked with Madeleine about until Desmond got back.

  He brought his gaze up again. “Does everyone know?”

  “Not yet, sir. I took the call in private. But Wexley is small, and the staff will hear eventually.”

  He knew it was true. Nothing moved faster in small villages than gossip. “And Mr. Desmond.”

  Kerrick nodded. “He is responsible for you while you’re here, so he’ll have to be told. But you’ve nothing to be ashamed of, sir. To the contrary—what you did was admirable. The policeman who rang was quite adamant about that.” He pointed at the array of food. “You should eat something, sir. I’m sure last night was quite harrowing.”

  Alastair picked at a piece of toast to satisfy him, but barely finished half of it. His body was hungry; both the stress and the magic had indeed taken a lot out of him. But he was afraid if he ate anything more substantial he’d be sick.

  Finally he sighed. “I think I’ll go back into town and talk to the police, to get it over with. Do you think Max will mind if I borrow the Vespa again?”

  “Would you like a ride, sir? I’d be happy to—”

  He stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “No, thanks, Kerrick. I appreciate it, but I think I just want to be alone for a while.”

  “As you like, sir.” Kerrick eyed him with some concern, but didn’t comment further.

  As he left the dining room on his way back to his room to retrieve the Vespa’s keys, Alastair noticed a shadowy figure in one of the halls. A quick shift to magical sight confirmed it was Selby, but as soon as the assistant steward spotted him, he turned abruptly and hurried away.

  Alastair spent longer in Wexley than he’d intended.

  It didn’t take long to give his statement to the police; he found the tiny station tucked away on a side street and explained to them why he was there. The cop he’d spoken with last night wasn’t present, but once he gave his name everybody on the small force knew who he was.

  They seemed surprised that he’d come alone, but didn’t say anything about it. He supposed since he was only giving a statement and not under suspicion for anything, he didn’t need a guardian or a solicitor present before they could talk to him. Instead, an older, fatherly man in a suit, who introduced himself as Detective Inspector Ulney, took him into a room and asked him several questions about what had happened. He answered them to the best of his ability and recollection, and the detective wrote his answers down in his notebook. Ulney did ask about the strange “glowing thing” Bobby Portman and his friends claimed pushed them over, but he said the same thing he had last night—that he had no idea what they meant, and that they’d been very drunk at the time. Ulney seemed satisfied with that.

  Eventually, after a few more questions about what why he was in Wexley, who his family was, and what he was doing up at Caventhorne, Ulney let him go. “You’re a good lad, Stone, though that was a dangerous thing you did. If you should ever come upon a situation like that again, call the police. That’s what we’re here for. Don’t try to be a hero—you could have been badly hurt, and so could Rosemary. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Though I hope I never have to do that again.”

  Outside, the day was gray and drizzly. He glanced at his watch: it was after eleven already. The police had asked him questions for nearly an hour. He paused outside the station, trying to decide what he wanted to do.

  He still had a few hours before his session with Desmond this afternoon. He could stay in town, perhaps try to find lunch somewhere, since his hunger at this point was overwhelming his lingering stress from last night. Or, he could head back to Caventhorne and spend the time working on his magic, so he’d be well prepared to show Desmond his progress.

  Time to get back on the horse, he told himself firmly. The events of the past couple days had done a good job of showing him why he should keep his mind on his magic. He was glad he’d been able to help Rosemary, but from now on it was probably best to just keep his head down and his focus on his studies.

  He got back on the Vespa and putted off toward the main street, which would take him back to Caventhorne.

  “Ali!” a familiar voice called as he stopped at the corner and waited for a chance to make a right turn.

  He turned to see Madeleine Hill hurrying toward him; only then did he realize the chip shop was only two doors down from the corner. He pulled over and waited for her to approach.

  She skidded to a stop in front of him, flushed and puffing. “Oh, my God! I just popped by the shop for lunch, and I heard about last night—about Rosemary! Is it true?”

  “Er—” he began.

  “Did you really save her from being gang-raped by four blokes in the park?” Her eyes were wide, but her expression showed fear, not prurient interest. “I heard one of them was the bloke at the cinema last night!”

  “I—didn’t really save her,” he said. “I just scared them off when I stumbled in on them. It was the one from the cinema, yeah. But there weren’t four. Only three.”

  “Oh, my God!” she repeated. She stared at him with wonder. “That’s—amazing. You could have been killed.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said, suddenly awkward. He knew, in a small town like this, what had happened was a big deal that would likely be the talk of many pub nights and study-hall discussions for weeks to come. But right now, he didn’t want to think about it anymore, let alone discuss it. “Really. They’re making it sound like more than it is. She’s fine. I’m fine. They arrested the guys. That’s it.”

  She eyed him again and her posture changed, as if she’d just remembered how things had gone last night when they’d parted. “Well,” she said, more restrained, “it’s still amazing. You should be proud of yourself. Really.”

  “I suppose I should. Doesn’t feel like it, though.”

  A long pause hung between them, as both looked anywhere but at each other. “I…guess I should get back, then,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. “Need to get back to class. But when I saw you, I just wanted to—”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  She held his gaze for a moment longer, her green eyes troubled. “See ya, then.” She turned and started to walk away.

  “Madeleine?” he called.

  She turned back. “Yeah?”

  “Rosemary. She…” This was unfamiliar territory for him, and he had no idea how to navigate it. Still, he felt he had to say something. “Well, I think she could use some friends. Girls, you know? To help her…so she doesn’t…” Damn, this was awkward. He sounded like a stammering idiot!

  But Madeleine seemed to get it. Her expression softened a little. “I’ll see about that. Talk to her. Maybe invite her to the shop or something. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  She lingered a moment longer; when he didn’t say anything else, she spun again and trotted back toward the shop.

  Alastair waited until she’d disappeared inside, then pulled the Vespa back into the sparse traffic and resumed his trip back to Caventhorne.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When he got back, Kerrick was waiting for him. “Mr. Desmond rang,” he said. “He said he’ll be a bit late this afternoon. He wants you to meet him in his study at four o’cloc
k.”

  Alastair frowned. In his study? “Not the workroom?”

  “No, sir. He specified the study.”

  “Does he…know about what happened?”

  Kerrick nodded. “I’ve explained the situation to him, sir.”

  “Er…right. Did he say anything else?” Despite Kerrick’s neutral expression, Alastair felt as if the temperature in the room had chilled by several degrees. An uncomfortable knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

  “No, sir. I’m sure he’d like to discuss the situation with you.”

  Of course he did. It made sense—Desmond was his temporary guardian, after all. “I’ll be sure not to be late. I think I’ll head down and work on some things downstairs until then.”

  It appeared that Kerrick was about to say something, but then he merely nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Alastair arrived at Desmond’s study at three fifty-five that afternoon. The door was closed. He lingered there, glancing at his watch and wondering if he should knock or wait for the door to open on its own. Stop it, he told himself angrily. Everything’s fine. He might ask you to stop seeing Madeleine, but you were going to do that anyway.

  He’d spent the last few hours in the workroom, going through all the techniques Desmond had taught him over the last three weeks, one after the other. He practiced the shield, the invisibility spell (which he was still terrible at), levitation, telekinesis, and magical analysis. He practiced the combination of shield and telekinesis that Desmond had given him leave to work on. He read ahead in several of his reference books and finally, forty-five minutes before he was due to meet Desmond, he did a quick last-minute dusting job and headed upstairs for another shower and a change of clothes.

  The most important thing was to keep moving, to keep his mind occupied. The one thing he didn’t want to do—couldn’t afford to do, if he didn’t want to drive himself mad with stress—was to think about why Desmond wanted to meet him in the study instead of the workroom, and what his master planned to say to him.

  He couldn’t know that, so there was no point in obsessing about it. He’d find out soon enough. He leaned on the wall outside the door and checked his watch again.

  Three fifty-eight.

  How could two minutes grind by so slowly?

  The door swung open as the ancient, massive grandfather clock in the hall struck four. “Come in, Mr. Stone,” Desmond’s familiar voice called from the dimness inside.

  Stop getting nervous, Alastair firmly ordered himself. He’s always like this.

  He stepped inside and the door closed behind him.

  Desmond didn’t look any different than usual: he sat behind his ornately carved desk, dressed in his usual immaculate suit. His hands rested on the desktop; the room’s only illumination came from the late-afternoon sunlight filtering in through a narrow opening in the heavy drapes behind him, and a small lamp on a table nearby. “Sit down, please.” He indicated a nearby chair.

  Alastair, feeling very much like he had during one of his first meetings with Desmond in this very room, lowered himself to the edge of the chair and waited.

  “Kerrick has informed me about your activities last night, Mr. Stone.”

  “Yes, sir. He mentioned that.”

  Desmond leaned back a little. “First, let me say I am pleased you were able to prevent a terrible crime. It was fortunate you were in a position to do so.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Regarding your—other activities last evening, while I don’t necessarily approve of your carrying on any sort of romantic relationship during the apprenticeship period, as long as you conducted yourself as a gentleman and didn’t allow it to affect your studies, it was none of my concern.”

  Alastair thought about what he and Madeleine had done in the back row of the cinema and wasn’t sure it exactly qualified as ‘conducting himself as a gentleman,’ but he wasn’t about to tell Desmond that. “It—won’t be a problem, sir. I’ve already decided to stop seeing her, to prevent any…distractions.”

  “Very wise, Mr. Stone.” Desmond took a deep breath, and Alastair was sure he saw a fleeting look of disappointment pass across his face. “Unfortunately, what you do with your time will cease to be any of my concern after today. It is with great regret that I am terminating your apprenticeship, effective immediately.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alastair went stiff, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment his brain refused to connect to his mouth. He felt as if Desmond had just hit him in the gut with a battering ram.

  No.

  It couldn’t be! Not after all this time—not after how hard he’d worked—

  “Sir—please—” He leaned forward, his voice shaking with desperation.

  Desmond held up a hand. His gaze was hard, but not unkind. “No, Mr. Stone. There will be neither argument nor appeal to my decision. I was very clear on that from the beginning.”

  Alastair’s mind whirled. “But—sir—what did I do wrong? You said what I did at the park was—”

  “Mr. Stone, please. When I agreed to take you on as my apprentice, you agreed to certain rules. I allowed myself to be swayed, against my better judgment, when you skirted the edge of breaking them before. I did this because of your potential, which I felt was significant. But now I see that my original assessment was correct: your talent is prodigious, your intellect impressive, and your devotion to the Art is strong. But you are simply too young—too immature—to pursue serious magical study yet. Perhaps if you were to approach me again when you are of age, I might consider entering into an arrangement with you. That assumes, of course, that you still wish to do so, and I am not otherwise occupied at the time.”

  Alastair clutched at the edge of the desk. Breathe. ‘Too immature,’ Desmond had said. ‘Too young.’ But he’d been doing so well, learning nearly everything his master had thrown at him, and learning it fast. How could Desmond—

  “Sir, please. If this is about Madeleine, I told you, I’ve—”

  “I do not know who ‘Madeleine’ is, Mr. Stone. If she is the girl you have taken to seeing then no, this is not related to her.” He pulled a piece of paper to him and glanced down at it. “As your temporary guardian, I received the report from the police regarding what occurred last night.” His gaze came up. “The men who attacked the young lady reported that a dark-haired young man shouted something at them, waved his hand, and a—their words—‘big glowing thing flew out and knocked us on our arses.’” He looked down at the paper again, then fixed a hard, probing stare on Alastair. “The police were inclined to discount this testimony, attributing it to the men’s state of inebriation at the time. You and I know better, do we not, Mr. Stone?”

  Alastair couldn’t meet his gaze. “Yes, sir.”

  “Despite my making it abundantly clear that you were not to use magic outside what I have directly taught you or assigned you to practice.”

  Alastair didn’t answer.

  “Do you deny using magic against these men, Mr. Stone, against my orders?”

  Suddenly, anger rose in Alastair. He brought his gaze back up and glared at Desmond. “No, sir, I don’t deny it. What should I have done? There were three of them, and they were all bigger than me. There’s no way I could have gotten them away from Rosemary without using magic.”

  “You should have done what any mundane faced with the same situation would have done.” Desmond’s face could have been carved from stone, for all the reaction that showed on it. “You should have sought out a police officer, or a telephone to report the crime.”

  Alastair’s anger grew. Was Desmond kidding? He hadn’t been there—he hadn’t observed the scene in the dark, deserted park. “No one else was around. I didn’t see any phones. If I’d yelled, those guys would have heard me and come after me. I had no idea if any policemen were
close enough to hear me even if I did.”

  He focused his own gaze in a fair imitation of Desmond’s own. “Are you saying I should have run away to try to find someone who might not even have been there? That even though I had the power to stop them, I shouldn’t have used it? What’s the point of knowing magic, if you can’t use it when you need to?”

  He leaped up, still gripping the table, and leaned farther over Desmond’s desk. “Is that what you’re saying, Mr. Desmond? That I should have let them rape Rosemary because of your rules?” Adrenaline surged through his body, driving way any last vestiges of fear or hesitation.

  “That is enough, Mr. Stone!” Desmond thundered. “Sit down this instant!”

  “I don’t think so, sir.” Alastair had felt this way occasionally before—it was one of the few things that had gotten him into trouble at Barrow and with his father. It was as if some other force had taken control of his body and his mouth, while his wiser consciousness hovered overhead, powerless to intervene. “You said it yourself—you’re turfing me out because I broke your rules. That means I’m not your apprentice anymore, so you can’t give me orders. You told me before that I should act like a gentleman. I don’t bloody see how running off like a coward and leaving a girl to get raped by three guys is acting like a gentleman, do you?” He was nearly shouting, but he no longer cared what Desmond thought of him.

  Desmond didn’t answer; his gaze was colder than Alastair had ever seen it.

  Part of Alastair’s brain was yelling at him to stop, but he wasn’t done yet. “You taught me the most important thing about magic is willpower. But what kind of willpower would I have if I rolled over and did something I knew was wrong, just to follow some arbitrary rule you made because you’re too scared you might lose another apprentice? I can’t believe you’d even respect me for that!”