by Tim Susman
“Don’t want to train her for a year and then have her go off to take up quilting.” This was the same voice that had been surprised she could do magic. Kip badly wanted to tell them that Emily was about as likely to take up sewing as she was to turn into a Calatian.
“I doubt she will.” This was Argent again. “Her dedication to learning is admirable.”
“What if she’s taken with her monthlies and takes out her frustrations with sorcery?”
“Most women manage them with little complaint, but do tell, is that why you only go see your wife certain times of the month?”
General laughter, and then, “What about dissension in the candidates? Won’t it distract the students to have a girl in their midst?”
“If they’re that easily distracted,” Master Patris said, “then they won’t become sorcerers anyway.”
“So you favor her admission?”
“I did not say that,” he said.
“Patris is saving his objection for the Calatians.” This was the high-pitched, reedy voice.
“We are not discussing them yet,” Patris said stiffly, but Kip could tell from his tone that the reedy voice was right.
“Well, then, any objections to Miss Carswell’s admittance?” This was Argent, pushing the matter forward.
The chorus of yeas was weaker, the nays more plentiful, but there was no question which carried the day.
“And now,” Master Patris said, “the question of Coppy Lutris.”
“Why not consider both together?” Master Argent said. “Unless the difference in their math or history is enough to separate them. No?”
There must have been non-verbal agreement, because Master Patris said, “Very well. Lutris and Penfold.”
Kip strained to hear any words, but for several seconds, nobody spoke. Then Master Argent said, “Prejudices aside, Penfold has a strong grasp of sorcery. You all saw what he was able to do, and that untaught. Lutris shows potential as well, easily enough to qualify a human student.”
“And yet,” an unfamiliar voice said, “we cannot simply dismiss out of hand the differences between these candidates and the human ones. Vendis, the fox is the son of your calyx. What say you? Were you aware of his talent?”
Master Vendis had a soft, high voice that Kip had to strain to hear. “The father told me, of course, but I had not seen any evidence before yesterday.”
“Is the father of good character?”
“Most excellent,” Vendis replied. “The son is perhaps a trifle hasty, but I have confidence in the family.”
“And the otter? What know you of him?”
Master Patris’s voice cut through the argument. Kip braced himself, folding his ears down. “The question is not of the individual character of the Calatians. The question is of the policy of this College. If we admit these two, others will surely follow. I have spoken to Master Roylston at the King’s College, and he warns strongly against admitting them.”
“Did he forbid it?” Master Windsor’s deep voice.
A pause, during which Kip thought his heart might not have beat at all. “No,” Patris said finally. “He advised us to use our judgment.”
“Then in my judgement as Master of Admissions,” Argent said, “it would be a mistake to deny admission to these two candidates.”
“And in my judgment,” Patris responded, “it would be a greater mistake to admit them. My primary concern is the safety of this college and the remaining sorcerers, and allowing them to enter the college will create strife and tension. It could distract us from our vigilance and open us up to another attack. We are the only defense of these colonies, and as Master Roylston reminded me, any enemy wishing to strike at the Empire might well do so through her most prosperous—and now least defended—colonies.”
“For God’s sake, Patris,” Windsor said. “Do not stoop to fearmongering. It has been months since we were attacked. Do you not think the Spaniards cunning enough to strike when we were at our weakest?”
“Exactly. Admitting them will weaken us, not strengthen us.”
Argent raised his voice. “They are talented, they are learning sorcery, and if we do not educate them, I do not think I need remind you of the danger we may be exposing ourselves to.”
The reedy voice said, “We can forbid them to practice sorcery. Set a demon to watch them.”
“Would we truly benefit by such an effort? Shall we assign a demon to every renegade sorcerer as they arise?” This was the other deep voice that had occasionally added a “nay” to the reedy voice’s. “I like it no more than you, but it seems to me we are between Scylla and Charybdis here.”
“I see no dilemma,” another voice cut in. “The calyxes are crucial to our fight against the Spanish. If Calatians are permitted to study sorcery, what will come of our calyxes? Will they permit themselves to be used in the same fashion? Or will they demand education, equality? This step we take may cripple the empire.”
“Should we forbid the Calatians,” Master Argent said, “the calyxes may revolt as well.”
“Save your drama for the theater. This is a serious issue!”
“The class is small enough as it is without excluding two of the best students,” Argent retorted.
It warmed Kip to hear himself and Coppy thus described. But then Master Patris said, “Roylston offered to send us a half-dozen students from England.”
This announcement was not made nor met with the enthusiasm Kip expected. “Be delighted to send us his dregs, he would.”
“They’re good students,” Patris snapped, but he sounded as though he was being forced to defend them.
“Because the worst of London is better than the best here?”
“Rather home-grown Calatians than London humans.”
“We’re all subjects of the Crown; what’s the difference?”
“You’ve been in your room too long if you need ask that question.” This was Master Argent. “I sing ‘God Save The King’ as loud as anyone, but I’m a man of Massachusetts Bay should anyone ask, and Massachusetts Bay’s best can match London’s best, even though we lost so many in the attack.”
“London’s students come here to live would become Massachusetts Bay students, if that is of such paramount importance.” Patris, again.
“London never approved of our Indian sorcerers.” A voice Kip didn’t know. “Perhaps they fear we will turn in that direction again to fill our numbers.”
“Indians would be preferable to Calatians.” The reedy voice rose again. “Even Negroes.”
“For God’s sake, Sharpe,” Kip heard before a general clamor arose.
“If I may.” Master Windsor broke in. “We are straying from the point at hand.”
“Yes,” Patris said. “Quite right. The Calatians. So we are agreed? They will not be admitted?”
A low voice responded, “I believe we must examine historical precedent here. Back in 1785, this college…”
At that moment a weight dropped onto one knee of Kip’s crossed legs. He made a noise and dropped about five feet, but had enough presence of mind to keep his jaw shut as he stared at the raven folding its wings, sharp talons digging into the cloth of his pants and the fur below.
“The vote will be close,” it croaked. “I wish to know, if you will permit, what motivates you to pursue sorcery.”
He knew the air wasn’t dry because his fur was matted, but his mouth felt as though he’d had no water in days. He licked his lips and tried to keep his voice low. “I wish to—”
With a snap, the raven clacked its beak, making him stop and wobble in the air again. “I wish to know from your mind. If you will permit. I promise to listen only to what you tell me. We do not have a great deal of time. Master Barrett is long-winded but not infinitely so.”
“Yes, I—I agree,” Kip said quickly, ears straining at the murmurs of conversation from the window above.
In his head, a clear voice: why do you want to learn sorcery?
And he told it, with wo
rds floating in clouds of images, of the fierce joy of driving Farley away with fire, of the fascination the fire held for him and the long nights he’d spent trying to summon it back, of the giddy joy he’d felt from the rush of his first successfully cast spell, of his hunger to know more, to know how and why these spells worked and to be able to cast more of them, of the many little distresses he could help in the Calatian community and the justices he could render, and—
Thank you.
It stared back at him and then cocked its head as though listening. Kip stared at it and slowly brought his ears back up, inclining his head as well. He lifted himself and the raven back to be level with the window. Master Barrett, if that was the sorcerer to whom the low voice belonged, continued to drone on.
“…we must not underestimate the duty of this college. Not all the calyxes demonstrate an affinity to magic, and many of them are too old anyway to enroll. The responsibility to regulate the use of magic and education of sorcery in the Colonies now rests entirely on our shoulders and we must approach it with all the gravity such a duty merits.”
The next voice was Patris’s. “I notice you have not cast your stone to one side or the other with that pretty speech.”
Barrett replied, “Have I not? Perhaps I can make it clearer. We now bear the entire burden of sorceric education in these colonies. Here are two students in need of it. How much more clear do you think I need be?”
“This decision,” Patris said, “may shape the course of history, and we should not simplify it in order to be more quickly done with it.”
Kip could swear the raven rolled its eyes.
“History,” Master Windsor said, “is not shaped by single men nor single decisions. This may be the first rumble of thunder, but plugging our ears to shut out the sound will not stop the storm.” He raised his voice, and the raven on Kip’s knee listened as attentively as the fox did. “To those who view the tides of history from above, the surprise is not that these candidates have emerged now, but that they have not emerged before now.”
“I watch the tides of politics,” Patris said, “and I have not seen any sign of this.”
“Perhaps you should look more closely into your calyx’s eyes when he visits,” the shaky voice said.
This provoked some laughter, nervous and short. Kip looked questioningly at the raven, but it simply stared back blankly at him. He hoped the sorcerers would continue with some hint as to what the calyxes’ duties were, but instead Master Windsor resumed speaking.
“In any event,” he said, “admission to the College does not guarantee success as a sorcerer. It might very well be that the Calatians will be assigned to duty as physical sorcerers, in which case they will serve as examples to the rest of their race, yes, but a limited example, not something to exalt, but something to temper expectations.”
Kip’s fists clenched. Building roads or walls? He would never settle for that.
“Tell me, you who have examined the Calatians.” This voice was another unfamiliar one, soft and wispy, and Kip had to strain to hear the words. “Why do they seek to learn sorcery?”
“They want power.” Patris jumped in. “Of course.”
Master Argent replied in a more even tone. “Lutris wants to be able to better protect his friends. Very straightforward. Penfold—well, I believe he truly wants to learn sorcery for its own sake.”
“Protection from what?” Patris overrode Argent. “From the rest of us? And how do we know Penfold’s not simply regurgitating the answers we want? Have we not all heard the legends of Reynard the trickster?”
“Reynard is a legend, not a Calatian,” someone put in.
“I believe that to be the truth of him, and I have asked in my own way,” the soft voice responded, and that silenced the group for a moment.
The reedy voice chimed in. “Sorcery for its own sake? Dangerous, dangerous.”
“No more than any other candidate.” The soft voice. “And more worthy of our regard than most.”
“Ah, there I do not agree.” Windsor. “There are few other candidates—the woman, the Irishman, perhaps—who would use their power to attack society and attempt to effect change. The scale upon which the Calatians might work is greater than most other candidates.” Patris made a satisfied noise, and Windsor went on. “However, that danger must be measured against the danger of allowing them to embark on this course without the supervision of this college.”
“You make a pertinent point there. But what about the danger of—”
All sound was cut off from him. His control over his spell wavered for a moment, and then he steadied himself. The raven on his leg stared directly at him and then opened its beak.
“You should not hear the votes cast on your behalf,” it said. “But be assured that you will be admitted.”
“We will?” Kip’s heart thudded against his ribs. “Really?”
“The tides of progress inch forward, though there are many who wish to hold them back.”
“Who are you?” He asked it quickly, still giddy with the knowledge of their success.
It fluttered its wings. “Now is not the time for us to converse. Your friends will be waiting for their news.”
“You’re not going to punish me?”
It tilted its head one way and then another. “It is important that you know what you face. The path will be difficult and there is much at stake beyond what you know.”
“Beyond…” Kip drew in a breath, the cool air chilling his lungs. “How am I supposed to cope with things I don’t even know about?”
The raven spread its wings. “Do your best. That is all anyone can ask.” With a powerful push down that sent Kip two feet lower and ruffled his whiskers, the raven launched itself into the air. He craned his neck to follow it, saw a shadow pass across the moon, and then it was gone.
Sounds returned as he lowered himself to the ground. Emily and Coppy ran up and asked in breathless whispers what he’d heard. “Well,” he said, drawing the moment out, “there was a lot of arguing. Patris doesn’t want us in. But Windsor and Argent spoke in our favor. And…” He hesitated over whether to tell them about the raven, but Coppy made the decision for him by speaking up, eyes wide.
“Windsor? That old sourpuss?”
Kip nodded. “Though—well, he said that we were the first rumblings of thunder and that there was a storm coming—something like that, anyway—and that even if we got admitted, we might end up being sent to build roads and walls.”
“Oh, let them try,” Emily said.
Kip forced a smile to cover the familiar sour feeling. The masters had needed to know truthfully what was in his head, a caution they’d not needed for any other candidate, and even then the vote had been “close.” Close, for a student who could actually cast spells already. Even Emily, with their doubts about her commitment to sorcery, had passed with less scrutiny. “It was more directed at me and Coppy, but there was some debate over you as well.”
“Did any of them say I might be useful in the kitchen?”
“No. Honestly,” because she didn’t seem to believe him. “They were mostly worried about whether you would stay with the college or go off to, I don’t know, take up quilting or something.”
“Quilting?” She stared and then laughed. “They may think what they like. If they are waiting for me to quit, they will be waiting a good long time.”
“That’s what I thought.” Kip wished he could somehow channel Emily’s self-confidence and poise. Even after some of the stories she’d told them about her forced marriage and the way women were held back, she still believed in herself with a fierce determination.
Coppy put a paw on his arm. “Are we really to enroll here?”
He looked down into the gleam of the otter’s eyes in the moonlight, saw the twitch of his whiskers, and smiled. His sour feeling faded as Coppy’s excitement reminded him that what was important was that they had made it to the next stage with a chance to prove themselves. And even if they ended
up road layers or wall builders (they would not) then they would have gotten farther than any Calatians ever had. “We really are.”
Coppy exhaled, a long breath whose traces hung in the chill, humid air. “I wish my mum could see me now.” He leaned against the wall of the Tower and closed his eyes.
“She would’ve wanted you to be a sorcerer?” Emily asked gently.
Coppy cracked one eye open and grinned. “Far from it,” he said. “Sorcerers is why she wanted me to leave London. So many of us went down to the docks, watching the calyxes go up to the King’s College, and we wanted to go as well, until we were old enough. Mum was happy to see me off along the Road, and she was none too happy I chose to stay here in the shadow of another College.” He waggled a finger at Kip.
“Glad you did.” Kip smiled.
“Then Kip told me he could do magic and that I could too. You know the first thing I thought?” Emily shook her head, and Coppy smiled. “I thought, ‘I could take this back to London and show the folks on the Isle that we can have more.’ I thought we could be more like New Cambridge, have some businesses humans would come to instead of being naught but calyxes and builders.”
Kip had heard this before, but he stayed quiet, his ears splayed to either side. Emily listened, rapt. “But that’s foolishness, so I thought,” Coppy went on. “I never thought we could learn enough sorcery to be useful. I struggled to keep up with Kip there. But that’s how the world is, you know? You take what life gives you and you do your best with it. And up until a few minutes ago, I never really believed we’d be allowed in the school. Now…” He closed his eyes again. They waited, neither Kip nor Emily wanting to interrupt. “Now maybe even if I don’t learn much, I can go back and repair walls, build roads…show the cubs there what they can be.”
This was perhaps the storm to which Master Windsor had been referring. Calatians seeing one of their own wielding magic, more of them getting ideas, maybe some of them thinking about times in their lives when magic had erupted around them, like Kip’s fire. More of them demanding to be taught at the Colleges, learning on their own if that was denied (as it sounded like it might be, in London).