The Tower and the Fox: Book 1 of The Calatians

by Tim Susman

  Three more candidates came in, by which time Kip and Emily, at least, were getting tired of the same startled reaction. “It’s as though they can’t even conceive that we might be candidates,” Emily said, eyeing the last boy to walk in, but she was half-smiling, looking smug about it.

  “Reasonably,” Coppy responded, “I don’t know as I could conceive of either of you as a candidate. Still can’t.”

  “Get used to it.” Kip put a paw to his stomach. “I wonder if they’ll feed us.”

  At that moment, Master Argent’s raven clacked its beak against the perch with a loud rapping noise and then croaked. Conversation stopped as everyone looked up at the large black bird.

  “Luncheon will be served in this tent shortly,” it said in a croaking rendition of Argent’s voice.

  The three newest candidates gaped up. Kip noticed and grinned at Coppy. “Calatian candidates and now talking ravens! What next?”

  Coppy laughed. “Welcome to Sorcerer’s College.”

  A moment later, Victor returned to the tent in the company of Master Patris, whose large arm rested around the boy’s shoulder and whose white-maned face spoke low into his ear. Victor nodded, said, “Thank you, sir,” and then looked around the tent before walking back to Kip. “May I join you?”

  He addressed the question to Kip, but it was Emily who answered. “You may as well,” she said. “You’re the only one not startled by our presence.”

  “The others will grow accustomed to you in time.” Victor smiled as he sat. “Calatians are well-known here in New Cambridge and in Boston—we had several working in our shipyards. The mice particularly were quite cunning at getting into places the larger workers could not, and were more reliable than children.”

  “You employed children?” Max’s deep voice cut across the conversation. Kip glanced his way. His father had been silent for a good portion of the morning, his only contribution being smiles during the interplay between the others.

  Victor paused, his composure wavering. “It is perfectly legal,” he said, “but as I said, the mice were more reliable and better at getting into small spaces in the ships. Sometimes families send their children to us because they need the money, and what should we do? Send them home hungry? We give them ropes to wind and jobs suited to their age.”

  “I read an editorial,” Emily interposed, “by John Q. Adams, in which he bemoaned the state of an empire that allows children to be exposed to the dangers of the industrial workplace.”

  “If more sorcery was available to businesses,” Victor replied, so quickly that Kip could tell he’d had this discussion before, “then we would not have to rely on every available source of labor. And,” he said, composing himself, “some families who are not fortunate enough to have a guaranteed income would go hungry.”

  “My parents worked for their income,” Emily said.

  “And you never had to, did you?”

  She shook her head. Victor leaned forward. “I have met the parents of the children who worked in our shipyards—often they work for us as well. They watch their children earn extra money for the family and learn the value of honest work, and in some cases the children may learn a trade. So it is not all as despicable as Mister John Q. Adams would have you believe.”

  Had Victor ever worked at some of those jobs, Kip wondered, but he kept his long muzzle closed. The boy was making an effort to reach out to them where most of the other candidates were sitting at tables occasionally looking over at them with curious glances. At least the glances weren’t openly hostile.

  “But their bodies are not—” Emily’s heated rejoinder was cut off by the arrival of several floating platters of bread, cheese and fruit.

  All the conversation in the tent died down as the platters were brought to each table, even the empty ones, and deposited in the center. Several of the other candidates stared with wide eyes, and even Coppy and Emily drew back as a platter approached their table.

  The bread and cheese were familiar by both sight and smell. Kip knew the Oldman’s Bakery well, as it was just two doors down from his father’s shop, and Mr. Scort’s loaves of thick wheat bread had been a staple of his meals ever since childhood. Likewise, two of the three cheeses on the plate were a Cheddar and a Cheshire from the Piermont Dairy, one of three in the New Cambridge area, and a farm Kip had visited many times in younger days because they had great hills upon which the Piermonts allowed the children to sled, even Calatians.

  The third cheese was a sharp white cheese with veins of blue running through it, which Emily identified as a Stilton Blue, more common in England and Boston than in the rural colonies. And surrounding those cheeses were apples of a uniformly beautiful red with speckles of yellow, exuding a sweet-tart scent that made Kip’s mouth water. His nose tingled again with that peppermint-oil feeling. Was it the smell of magic?

  “Will they see fit to give us plates?” Emily murmured, just as half a dozen tin plates materialized seemingly out of nowhere and clattered to the table.

  “There’s yer plates,” said a disembodied voice.

  Emily started, staring toward the voice. Max chuckled and picked up a plate to hand to her. “Demons,” he said. “They do much of the sorcerers’ work.”

  “Well.” She took the plate. Max passed other plates around the table, while Coppy picked up the knife and cut slices of the bread. “There you go then, Mister Adamson. Why don’t you simply have demons work in your shipyards?”

  “Had we the power to bind them, we would,” he said pleasantly. “Thank you, sir,” he added as Coppy dropped a slice of bread onto the plate. “That is one reason my father wishes me to study sorcery, so that I may benefit our company.”

  “Surely sorcerers are restricted from private employ?” Max took an apple, as Kip did, while waiting for Coppy to cut more of the bread.

  “They are.” Victor shaved off a slice of cheddar. “But one of our rivals in New York has benefited from association with a sorcerer, and sadly, New York being closer to the Road, there are more sorcerers there than in Boston. I would stay in Boston, once my education is complete.”

  A young round-faced man with jet-black hair and green eyes had walked past their table as Victor spoke, and he stopped with a smile. “Did I hear someone speak ill of the greatest city in the world?” he said with a soft Irish lilt.

  “No,” Emily said, looking up. “We have nothing but love for Boston.”

  His face broke into a wide smile and he laughed, which brought a smile to Kip’s face as well. “Ah,” the young man said, “Tis true what my mother said, then, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

  “Not at all,” Emily replied. “For I’ve seen New York with my own eyes, and there was no beauty there.”

  “Ah, but you’ve not seen it through the eyes of one who loves her streets and ports, her rivers and bridges and the life that courses through her day and night.”

  “Some of us prefer to rest at night.” But Emily, too, wore a smile now.

  “Oh aye, and some prefer to rest during the heat of the day, especially in Boston when the fishing-boats have come in.” The young man had a ruddy complexion and a scar down the left side of his face, and he wore a simple green shirt with what Kip now saw was a small piece of cloth, folded over to resemble a four-leafed clover, pinned to the breast pocket. “My name’s Malcolm O’Brien,” he said, and held up a hand. “I know, I know. ‘O’Brien,’ you may say, ‘but surely the lad speaks with a tongue that betrays nothing of Ireland at all!’ Well, a childhood on the streets of New York has beaten much of the Irish out of me, much to me dear mother’s shame.” He touched the cloth clover on his chest.

  “Not all of it,” Kip said. “You’re a candidate here?”

  “I hope to be.” He smiled at Kip without any reservation. “I’ve signed a paper and told them why I wish to study sorcery, and now I’ve nothing to do but wait for it. Good heavens, my good fellow, did you know you have eyes like a cat?”

  Kip blinked, and then
looked steadily back as Malcolm’s green eyes examined his own. “I’ve had encounters with a mirror once or twice, aye.”

  “What a thing! May I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, he sat on the bench next to Kip. “I’ve visited the Bronx, you know, there’s a Calatian town there, but I’d never encountered a fox. Sure, I mean no offense by it, for I see now how you come by them.” He waved across at Max. “They’re marvelous eyes, truly, the color of a lovely piece of amber, and it just took me by surprise.”

  “I had only seen taxidermied foxes in our museum,” Victor said, “our grand Museum of Natural History in Boston, that is. But I did not see the need to make a spectacle of it.”

  “I’m sure your museum is quite fine,” Malcolm said, helping himself to a plate and an apple. “But why not bring attention to it? Those eyes are on display for the world to see, much as the lovely storm-grey eyes across from him are, and why not remark on them? Me father says there’s no shame in speaking your mind, and the only folk who hide things are swindlers and lawyers. And,” he took a bite of his apple and kept talking, gesturing with the apple as he did, “there’s scant difference between them, in his eyes. Begging the pardon of any of you who happen to be swindlers.”

  Kip laughed, along with Coppy, and Max and Emily smiled. The latter said, “I can vouch for the lawyer part of that. Thomas almost never spoke his mind.”

  Victor, though, chewed his bread and cheese thoughtfully, and said, “To speak your mind at every turn is to leave yourself vulnerable to those who would abuse you.”

  He looked rather meaningfully at Kip as he said that, which made Kip wonder what he’d said to Victor that the young man might be referring to. Or perhaps he was simply referring to the general abuse of Calatians. Kip’s ears flicked to Emily, already expecting the fiery woman to respond, and saw that she was struggling to swallow a mouthful so that she might speak.

  His father’s thoughts had followed his lines, but he spoke where Kip had not. “Do the Calatians who work for you speak their minds too often, then?”

  Victor frowned, thinking. “I simply meant that by speaking your mind, you allow others to know of your plans and formulate plans against them.”

  “By speaking your mind,” Emily put in, having finally swallowed her bite, “you allow others to know that certain behaviors will not be tolerated.”

  Victor held up his hands and smiled smoothly. “I am outnumbered,” he said. “Let us agree that there may be circumstances in which being outspoken may be a better course of action. And,” he added, “I will agree that the eyes of the Penfolds are quite striking.”

  The compliment sat less well with Kip than Malcolm’s had, perhaps because it felt more calculated, but he said, “Thank you,” and then Coppy said that he didn’t really notice it anymore and he was sure that after a few days they would all be used to it as well, and Emily claimed she already was, although a few times after that, Kip caught her looking at his eyes or his father’s.

  “So,” Malcolm said into the ensuing silence. “Who do you all believe attacked the College?”

  Emily opened her mouth, but Victor jumped in first. “I hadn’t thought there was much doubt about the ‘whom.’ It was the Spanish, of course. The question is ‘how?’”

  “A demon, of course,” Malcolm said, “but would the Spanish be so bold? Why haven’t they attacked again?”

  “Because the attack failed, obviously,” Victor retorted, “and the colleges are warded against demons.”

  “Failed?” Malcolm arched an eyebrow. “There’s four buildings gone and a hundred dead in your ‘failure.’”

  “Ahem.” Emily cleared her throat. “We were trying to avoid the topic during our meal.”

  Victor and Malcolm fell silent, and then Malcolm said, “Sorry,” and went back to talking about New York.

  When they’d all eaten, Kip pushed his plate aside and said to Victor, in a low voice, “You were going to tell us about the test?”

  “Perhaps not here.” The young man looked around the tent. “Is that large tent on the other side of the Tower available?”

  “I think Master Argent called it the practice tent,” Emily said. “Let me see. Hello! Raven! Oh, what was its name? Blacktalon?”

  At the name, the raven perked up its head and flew down to their table, landing with a clatter among the used plates. It eyed the remaining cheese, but paid attention to Emily. “May we use the large practice tent on the other side of the Tower?”

  “Yes,” it responded, though it was sidling closer to the cheese now and appeared to be distracted. “You may not enter the Tower, nor the Admissions tent today, but all other tents are available to you.”

  “Thank you.” Emily reached for a piece of cheese and held it out.

  “Please do not give me cheese,” the raven said, but before Emily could retract her hand, it had lunged forward and snapped up the cheese in its beak. It croaked, and Kip could swear it grinned at her as it pushed off from the table and returned to its perch atop the tent.

  “Shall we go, before someone else has the same idea?” Victor had brought out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and now returned it to a pocket of his jacket before standing.

  “Glad to.” Malcolm stood with Kip and Emily. “We’re talking about the test, is it?”

  Victor stopped. “As it happens,” he said with cool courtesy, “we were going to exchange information. These three have practiced magic; I have taken the admissions test. What have you to contribute?”

  Kip turned to Malcolm before he realized that everyone else was also turning toward the Irishman, subjecting him to their scrutiny. To his credit, the young man smiled. “I’ve my wits and my experience, and the cultural sophistication of a New Yorker that seems to be rather lacking in this circle.”

  Victor looked down at his jacket cuff and straightened it. “As charming as that is,” he said, “I can assure you that neither experience nor New York cultural life are subjects of the examination. I think we would all prefer it if we were allowed to study by ourselves.”

  Kip, for one, would not prefer it, and in the glance he exchanged with Coppy, he thought the otter agreed with him. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said.

  “Oh, well,” Victor said. “If you would prefer to study with the Irishman, by all means. I’m sure there are other candidates with whom I can consult.” He affected a look around the tent.

  “All right,” Malcolm said, and patted Kip on the shoulder. “Looks like you fellows need the help more. I can tell when I’m not wanted. I’ll go find someone with more appreciation for the New York life, then, shall I?” And without waiting for an answer, he strode off toward one of the other tables.

  Kip bit his lip, and Coppy did not look altogether at ease. Emily, too, stared after Malcolm, but only for a moment before saying brightly, “Let’s be off, then.”

  As they walked back out into the rain, which seemed to be letting up, Max pulled Kip back. “I don’t like people who exclude others,” he said.

  “I tried,” Kip began, and his father interrupted.

  “I know you did, and it was well done. I’m only saying that you should be cautious.”

  “I will,” Kip said, inwardly irritated because he wanted to have done more, but he couldn’t figure out a way. Malcolm had been friendly, and he hated to lose that; Victor had left him no option.

  So he remained silent until they entered the practice tent, which was set up very similarly to the dining tent, though its two braziers sat empty and cold. “No matter,” Victor said, sitting at one of the benches. “One of our magicians can warm us.”

  He looked expectantly at Kip and Emily, and both shook their heads. “Physical magic is all I’ve practiced,” Kip said, and Emily nodded.

  “All right, never mind.” Victor smiled. “That’s what we’re here to learn.”

  The first thing they discussed was the attack. Victor asserted again that the Spanish must have been responsible, and Kip, who knew Max had told him that it was
more frightening that the sorcerers did not know, kept silent. Emily had heard rumors that the Indians had gathered several tribes together and woven the spell as revenge for unfulfilled promises after the war with France. Victor told her that she knew nothing about Indians and that the tribes had not even worked together during the war; they’d had to be put in separate regiments.

  The discussion threatened to get more strident at that point, so Kip stepped in and suggested they focus on the test they were about to take. Victor asked him if he’d been in town the night of the attack, and Emily said that she didn’t want to hear about it, and that was the last time the attack was mentioned that day.

  They talked about magic and about the test for an hour, while Max and Coppy sat nearby and watched (though Coppy, who had accompanied Kip on most of his practices, put in a word or two). Kip felt proud to be showing off his skills in front of his father, while he also felt awkwardly babied by having his father nearby. Whenever the desire crept into his mind that his father should leave him alone, he remembered the book that sat in his bag, the one his father had gotten for him, and the pride with which he’d watched Kip teach himself magic. He has the right to stay as long as he wants, Kip told himself firmly. If Coppy or Emily had family—well, Victor’s father had come to see him off, too, and hadn’t shown much interest in staying around.

  Max watched them all with keen eyes and perked ears, remaining politely silent as they all talked about their experiences. Emily had succeeded in moving small objects around. Only Kip could levitate himself, or levitate multiple objects. But Victor was more interested in the feeling of gathering magic, and to that, they could all speak, even Coppy, who had tried it with Kip.

  When it came time for Victor to discuss the tests, he told what he knew, and what he had been studying in the previous months. Kip was pleased to find that the education he’d gotten in the New Cambridge schoolhouse would serve him well: knowing French would be an asset, and he had diligently read through the classic works of the ancient world. He was also well acquainted with the history of sorcery, to which Victor said the exams paid particular attention.