by Tim Susman
The tent flap burst open. “Sorry!” Malcolm gasped, staggering through. “Had a bit of a nap.” Everyone turned to stare at him, and he returned the looks cheerfully. “Food’s got here, I see,” he said, and paused at Kip’s table, looking down. “Mister Coppy’s gone home?”
“Only to get his things.” Kip couldn’t keep from looking at Farley. “He’s decided to apply along with us.”
“Splendid!” Malcolm followed Kip’s gaze. “Well, since Master Adamson has chosen other company, is this seat available to us lowly rabble with naught to contribute?”
“Please sit down,” Kip said, and turned to Emily with a smile. “So, eighteen.”
She nodded as Malcolm sat and reached for the carving knife. “May I?”
Conversation slowed as the applicants ate, save for Farley, who had little compunction about combining the two activities. “Ma brought it up to me,” he told Adamson and the others as he chewed. “If we still had the land what was rightfully ours, of course I’d be managing a store right now ’stead of sitting here smellin’ a stinking pelt with my dinner.” Someone at his table, perhaps Adamson, murmured that that wasn’t the appropriate word, and Farley laughed. “What’s ‘appropriate’ mean? I call ’em what they are, not dressed up with fancy names and fancy titles. The mayor, the teacher, they all go outta their way to give the animals whatever they want to pretend they’re human, and meanwhile my dad’s dead in France and there’s a shitting family of vermin working his land.”
Emily put a hand on Kip’s paw. “Most of us don’t think that way,” she said.
“Aye,” Malcolm said cheerfully between bites. “If you’d call that thinking, that is. Sounds t’me more like a lot of blather coverin’ up a lack of education and good manners.”
“Not covering it all that well.” Kip tried to match the Irishman’s good humor. “I’ve heard that story a hundred times besides. The Porters did buy his store, but his mother gave it up for auction. Nobody forced her to. She’s living rather well. Buys perfumes in our shop.”
Before Malcolm could respond, chilly air blew past them as the tent flap was pushed open. Masters Patris and Argent strode through and in, flanked by another sorcerer, his face narrowing to the point of his goatee. Patris and Argent did not bother to look around the tent, save one quick look Argent gave Emily, but the third sorcerer made a lazy arc from his right to his left, dark eyes looking bored until he reached Kip’s table. There the dark eyes lingered, and the lines around them became more pronounced. But a moment later he was facing forward again, as expressionless as before.
“Greetings, candidates,” Master Patris said. “I am the Head of this College, Master Patris, and behind me are Masters Argent and Windsor. The three of us will be administering your entrance exams over the next three days. These examinations will be oral, and will cover languages, history, mathematics, and sorcery. As there are eighteen of you, you will be divided into three groups of six, and each group will be tested individually by one of us over the next three days. On Friday, we will announce our decisions, and those candidates admitted to the College will be shown to their quarters in the Tower. Master Argent will assign your groups now.”
With that, the white-haired sorcerer turned and strode out of the tent, and Master Windsor followed. Master Argent cleared his throat. “Why don’t we assign the groups by tables? Those two tables make up a group of six.” He indicated Kip’s table and the one adjacent. “Then those two in the back, and these two here.” He took out a paper from his robe and spoke quickly. “Group one, Miss Carswell, Penfold, O’Brien, Smith, Cobb, and let’s add Lutris to that group. Group two, Forester, Davies, Wormwood, Adamson, Broadside, Carmichael. Group three, Chesterton, Quarrel, Cooper, Middleton, Potterfield, Plant. Group one will see Master Windsor tomorrow, group two will see Master Patris, and group three will see me. You will be examined in alphabetical order by last name, and yes, determining the correct order is part of your exam.” This last remark was accompanied by a smile, as the paper returned to the pocket of his robe. “Does anyone have questions about the examinations?”
“What’s on them?” Malcolm called out, and nervous laughter skittered around the tent.
“You’ll find out.” Argent smiled, and then nodded to a young man timidly raising his hand at the back of the tent.
“Who’s covering which subjects?”
“I will test you on sorcery. Windsor will test you on history and languages. Master Patris will test you on mathematics.”
So Victor hadn’t been misleading them about the contents of the test. Kip exhaled. Much as he dreaded spending any time in a room with Patris, at least mathematics had right and wrong answers, and Patris wouldn’t be able to overlook the right answer if he gave it. He hoped Master Windsor would be a fair examiner as well. Then he might have a chance.
As soon as the masters left, Cobb and Smith pushed their table next to Kip, Malcolm, and Emily. “John Cobb of Philadelphia city,” Cobb’s brown hair, cropped short, framed a plain, square face with a pleasant smile as he extended a hand.
“Mark Smith of Charleston.” Smith wore a brown cap over unruly blond hair and a handsome face with bright blue eyes. He didn’t smile, and only extended a hand when Kip, Emily, and Malcolm had shaken Cobb’s and looked at him expectantly. “Begging your pardon, but what do you hope to learn here?’
Kip opened his mouth to reply, but Smith was looking past him at Emily. “Are there spells to mend clothing? To boil water?”
“She’s here for the same—”
Emily cut him off. “No doubt there are,” she said tartly, “even as there are no doubt spells that can render you culturally sophisticated. But I wish to explore this continent. There is a vast swath of land won from Napoleon that lies out there to the west, and I intend to be one of the sorcerers tasked with exploring it.”
“By yourself?” Smith said, eyes wide. “What will your husband think of that?”
“Should I perchance acquire a husband in the next four years, I shall be certain that he is of a similar mind, so I have no doubt that he will accompany me, or else he will be content to wait until I return.”
Smith looked about to say more, but Malcolm waved him silent. “Unless you’ve a mind to add courting Miss Carswell to your studies, I’d recommend leaving this argument for her eventual suitors. Am I right in thinking Miss Carswell will be first in the testing by virtue of the spelling of her lovely name?”
Emily was not terribly upset about going first, but Kip chafed at his next-to-last placement. He wanted to show what he could do and then be done with the test. As other students arose and filed out of the tent, Kip attempted to smooth over the tension that still lingered from Smith’s statements. “Would you like to study together tonight?” he asked.
Before Cobb or Smith could answer, Malcolm spoke up. “I suppose Mister Adamson would have something to say about what I could contribute. So I should prefer to avoid that conversation.” He stood and walked out. A moment later, Smith and Cobb joined him, with uneasy glances at each other.
“Say what you will about Adamson; at least he’s polite,” Emily muttered. “I suppose it’s just the two of us then.”
“And Coppy,” Kip reminded her, hoping the otter would return soon. “And maybe Adamson—or perhaps not,” he finished, as Adamson was exiting the tent ahead of Farley.
Coppy returned not too long after with his satchel and a straw pallet to move into Kip’s tent. Officially he hadn’t been assigned a tent at all, and even though there should be at least three empty ones, he said he preferred to stay close by. “If you don’t mind,” he said as Kip made room. “You never know what mischief Farley might get up to late at night, aye?”
“I’ll be glad of the company.” Kip moved his bag to the head of his pallet. If he piled the clothes on top of the spell book and perfume bottles, it would make quite an acceptable pillow.
Since they were both in that tent anyway, Emily joined them, all of them sitting cross-legged on
the beds to discuss the subjects of the tests. Languages might be the weakest point for all of them, and none of them had books close at hand to study. History of magic and sorcery, though, they felt much more confident in. Emily assured them that their knowledge would be the only factor in their admission decision, “and judging by the quality of the other candidates, I don’t see we’ve much competition.”
“It wouldn’t be a competition anyway,” Kip said. “Did you see their advertisement? They’re desperate.”
“Good lookout for me, then.” Coppy tapped the side of his head. “I may not know magic or languages, but I wager I know more than Farley. If they let him in, they’ll let me in, and if they keep me out, they’ll keep him out as well, I hope.”
“And you know more history of sorcery than either of us.”
“Sorcerers over in the King’s College of Sorcery would feel obliged to remind us poor Calatians living down below how much we owe to sorcery, from time to time,” Coppy said. “Had little theater shows for those who weren’t lettered. Best entertainment we got.”
“It must be delightful having a captive audience to brag about your accomplishments to.” Emily brushed a lock of her hair back. “Were you also forced to tell them how handsome they looked?”
“Only on holidays.” Coppy rested his thick arms on his knees. “Wasn’t like it is here, where the sorcerers come down to be part of the community.”
“Used to,” Kip reminded him.
“Aye. Well, the Thames lies between the College and the Isle, so it’s easy enough for them to look past us out over London if they’ve a mind.”
Coppy didn’t like to talk about the conditions of the Calatians in London, but Kip had gotten a few stories out of him over the year they’d known each other. He knew, for example, that foxes there more commonly lacked tails than possessed them, because scalpers raided the Isle looking for tails from four-to-six year old cubs, tails that could pass for wild fox tails and be sold among the nobility. He knew that the sorcerers in London rarely bothered to help the Isle with disease or injury save when an epidemic struck. He knew that while the police made public spectacles of the punishment of people who came to rob or murder the Calatians, to discourage such behavior among the ruffians and villains of London, they only punished the ones easily caught.
He thought about those things lying on his straw pallet that night with his bag under his head as Coppy lay snoring lightly beside him. Around him in the night, his ears caught the snores of a few other young men, and their smells drifted to him on the night breeze. He had a packet of herbs in his bag that he could sleep with if the smells of the night became too distressing; his father had given it to him when Coppy had first moved in, but though the otter’s scent was strong, it had never been objectionable and now Kip found it comforting. Would this be how their housing would be, should he be admitted? Would they all be sleeping together in one large room? Saul had been housed in a small room with only one other student, but those buildings were gone now.
Thoughts of Saul brought a dull, throbbing ache that he let sit in his chest.
* * *
“Of course I’ll stay here. I’m going to study sorcery at the College, and I’ll live right up the hill. I’ll come down like Master Etton does and I’ll repair shops and heal broken legs.” Saul had rested his fingers on Kip’s forearm, recently healed. They’d been lying in the summer sun late one evening in July over the rise from the quarry.
Even at seventeen, Kip had known that healing and brickwork repair were the responsibilities of two different sorcerers, but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll come up and be your calyx when I can.”
Saul had tapped his fingers on the border between the reddish-brown fur of Kip’s upper arm and the black fur that extended from mid-forearm up to his paws, like a glove. “Your dad won’t like it.”
“Your dad doesn’t like you spending time with me, but you do it anyway.”
The boy had smiled and said, “When I’m a sorcerer, Dad won’t order me around.” He’d wrapped his fingers around Kip’s arm. “When I’m a sorcerer, I’ll take care of all of you.”
The summer grass had felt good under Kip’s wagging tail. Even when he’d had to leave Saul a few minutes later because Nellie Porter arrived, he’d taken his time wandering back through the sun, excited at the promise that he would be part of some sorcery in the only way he was then allowed.
* * *
And now Saul’s promises were dead and buried, but that tragedy had opened a door for Kip that he’d never expected. Ever since he’d gotten the spell book from his father, he’d dreamed of one day being able to command the fire that had driven Farley away, to be in charge of his own life. He’d seen himself returning from the war with Spain a decorated hero, his magical flame the ruin of the new Spanish fleet; he’d pictured himself living down in New Cambridge among the Calatians, not up in the Tower with the other sorcerers; he’d work with his father so his father could stay down in the town as well. In his more extreme flights of fancy, he’d imagined himself unlocking mysteries that normal humans couldn’t, that his magical origin would be a blessing and that other sorcerers would come seek his advice. And of course, his life would be crowned by a Great Feat, something that would leave a permanent mark on the world.
From a young age he had always asked ‘how?’ How did perfumes smell so different? How did sorcerers fly? How did fire come about? He had once run up Founders Hill after his father and had been turned away at the gate, but not before meeting a phosphorus elemental, a lizard of fire, and the creature had seared itself into his imagination. How did they come to this world? How did they burn? Already his first full day atop Founders Hill had been frighteningly eventful, adding one new question to his mind: how had the stones of the Tower forced magic into him? How had a voice spoken into his head? The prospect of knowing those answers and solving them for others warmed him like few other visions his mind could conjure.
And to be the person who could answer the question of how the Colleges in the New World had been attacked and nearly destroyed, and by whom—well, that was the dream of everyone in New Cambridge, and probably in the American colonies and a good portion of the Empire, for that matter. Kip would settle for being one of those who would exact vengeance on the perpetrators. And so he fell asleep thinking once again of Saul.
Tendrils of mist lay on the ground the next morning, but the air had cleared, leaving the College bright and chilly. Despite the lack of heat in their small tent, Kip and Coppy had been perfectly warm under the thick blankets they’d brought and their coats of fur. Emily had not been quite so comfortable. “My nose is freezing,” she complained the next morning, when the students all gathered outside the tents. Kip noticed many of the other students looking at Emily, but only Malcolm approached while she was talking to the Calatians, though Cobb stood nearby, obviously listening.
“Kip’s is cold all the time.” Coppy grinned at her.
“Yes, well, it’s meant to be, isn’t it?” Emily rubbed her reddened nose. “Thomas had a hound dog, and its nose was cold all the time, except when it was sick. Oh, dear.” Her cheeks turned as bright red as her nose. “Oh, Kip, I’m sorry. What a terrible thing to say. I’m tired, and not thinking clearly.”
The words stung, a little. He could see it in Coppy’s eyes as well. “We’ve heard it many times,” he said, because Emily did look wretched, and that too was unnerving. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
Cobb did speak up at this point. “I don’t see why you should be sorry,” he said. “Acknowledging they came from human and animal both, well, it’s a fact, isn’t it?”
“They’re not—” Emily stopped herself. “No matter where we came from, we’re all people.”
“But we were created by God. They were created by a man.”
“Out of God’s creation. They have the same divine spark.”
“I don’t see why it’s offensive to acknowledge the differences.”
“Aye,” Malcol
m said, “sure, it’s a difference, but there’s differences between all of us, and how would you be feeling if Kip and Emily here were to say to each other, ‘Oh, that John Cobb, he’s a good enough fellow, and I hear those Pennsylvanians are just as much people as you and I, no matter what strange customs they have there’?”
“What customs?” Cobb turned on Malcolm.
“Ah,” the Irishman replied cheerfully, “it was an example made up on the moment, but if you insist, what about the custom of living in Pennsylvania, to start with, when there are such delightful places as New York and Boston in easy reach along the King’s Road?”
“Pennsylvania is a beautiful land!”
“I hear the land is as beautiful as the women in Pennsylvania, and that’s why the men drink from sunrise to sunset.”
Cobb started toward him and raised a hand. “We tell that joke about New Jersey!”
“And we tell it about you, and nobody tells it about us, and what does that tell you?” Malcolm gestured back toward Emily and Kip. “Now, let’s not be forgetting how this conversation started. Our friends are our friends, and let’s not be worrying about where their ancestors were born, be it the noble heritage of a fox’s earth or the ‘lovely’ hills of Pennsylvania.”
“Pennsylvania is—”
“For the love of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, my friend, it was a joke!” Malcolm set a hand on Cobb’s shoulder, and though the other made to shrug it off, the Irishman persisted. “‘Protest an insult once for honor, protest an insult twice, it’s on yer,’ my da used to say. None of us thinks ill of Pennsylvania, but the louder you cry her praises, the louder our doubts. So quiet down and put a smile on that Pennsylvania face and let’s all go about our studying, shall we?”
Later, while Emily was off at her test and Cobb was waiting to follow her, Kip took Malcolm aside. “Thank you,” he said.