by Tim Susman
Thomas shook his head impatiently. “Yes. But when they gather in swarms they may destroy farms. Then we call them locusts, and the sorcerers call demons to kill them by the thousands. You understand?”
“I…I don’t know.” Kip followed this train of logic and metaphor. “It’s a different situation. There are but three of us and we hardly qualify as some kind of swarm of locusts.”
The older fox nodded. “But you may inspire others.”
“We hope to,” Emily put in fiercely.
“To become a threat to the Empire?”
Kip held up a paw. This whole situation was nothing like what he’d been expecting, and though he didn’t want to show it, it unsettled him that Thomas couldn’t see fit to support him. He’d thought that only a few among the Calatians would not want one of their number to gain the knowledge and power of sorcery. How could anyone think it an evil? “I understand your concerns,” he said, only partly lying. “But I promise you that I am not striving to create any disturbance. I am simply hoping that having a Calatian sorcerer—and a female one, too,” he added, as Emily’s scent was strong in his nostrils and he was aware of her presence, “will make all of our lives better.”
Thomas kept his lips tightly shut, but he nodded. In the silence, Alice held out a paw to Kip. “I want to be a sorcerer too!” she said as Kip knelt in front of her and clasped her smaller paw in his.
“No,” Thomas said. “I forbid it.”
“You have to listen to your father,” Kip told the little vixen, whose ears had flattened. “But I will do magic for you when I’m permitted.”
She leaned forward to touch her muzzle to his, and whispered, “I only have to listen to him until we’re married.”
Kip’s eyes flicked up to Thomas, but Alice’s whisper had been so soft and breathy that even Thomas hadn’t heard it. “Well,” Kip said, standing, “we should be on our way up the hill. Mr. Cartwright, I will be pleased to keep you informed of my progress and continue these discussions, if you like.”
The older fox inclined his head, but did not say yea or nay to it. And so the four of them took their leave, walking out with the rising sun at their backs.
“I’ll fetch Johnny Lapelli,” Ada said as they reached the back of the church. “He’s down this street. But Kip, do think about what Thomas said. He reads the newspapers and he thinks about these things.”
Kip nodded and hugged her. “You think it’s all right for me to be a sorcerer, don’t you?”
Ada kissed the side of his muzzle and pulled back to look into his eyes. “I don’t want you to be hurt. That’s what I worry about.”
“We’ll all take care of each other,” Coppy said. “And we’ve got Emily to help now, too.”
“Indeed.” Emily embraced Ada and gave her a wide smile. “Though the rest of the College may be arrayed against us, I believe two Calatians and a woman who have gained entry to the College may accomplish anything else they set their minds to.”
Her optimism, though Kip suspected it was put on for his mother’s benefit, made him smile. “All right,” Ada said. “You all be careful and give me regular news of your studies.”
They promised to do that, and parted from her there. None of them spoke until they were past the church and the Founders Rest, and then Emily said, “That Mr. Cartwright had some interesting ideas.”
“He reads newspapers,” Coppy said, huffing as he pushed up the hill on his short legs. “Wonder if someone was once afraid of teaching Calatians to read.”
“Were we not always taught to read?” Kip glanced back over his shoulder. At his side, Emily remained quiet. “The school here has always taught Calatians as far as I know.”
“Oh,” Coppy panted, “some schools in London are for humans only and there are debates about what use we’ll make of our education and if it’s worth wasting money on it. If there weren’t a few teachers pulling schoolbooks from refuse piles on the Isle, nobody would bother teaching us beyond learning our alphabet.”
“People can be idiots,” Emily snapped.
They both quieted, and she turned to Kip. “Oh, I’m sure your future father-in-law is perfectly nice, but really? A ‘reason’ why women might not be sorcerers? It’s because of tradition, no more and no less, and a tradition that started because men were afraid of giving women too much power. You know what a witch is? It’s a woman who has magic and hasn’t been allowed to study sorcery. There’s a name for it and everything. So they know that some women have magic, and yet they keep them from the study of sorcery.”
Kip didn’t say anything to that, but wondered privately how many Calatians might have manifested magic over the years. There were far fewer Calatians than women in the world, so there might not be a word for it yet, but he wasn’t fool enough to think he was the first. Resolve gripped him then, that he would show all the ones to come that they were as worthy of studying magic as any human—man or woman.
7
Education
“Welcome to Prince George’s College of Sorcery. You are the first students admitted to help rebuild this school to the prominence it once enjoyed. This privilege bears with it a great responsibility, to comport yourselves with the dignity and grace befitting a sorcerer.”
A loud fart rang into the pause in Master Patris’s speech. Though Kip was on the other side of the group of students standing outside the Tower in the chilly morning air, he recognized the perfect timing of Farley Broadside.
Kip had hoped that Farley would at least have failed the examination, if not been dismissed for the act of vandalism. But there he was, his nose and cheeks bright red with the cold, grinning. The only candidate to fail had been the Potterfield boy; seventeen students stood before the masters, listening to Patris’s speech.
That Farley was still among them soured what was otherwise a perfect morning, bright and sunny with wisps of fog clinging to the dew-laden grass. The chill air did not bother Kip as much as it appeared to bother some of the students and even a few of the masters who stood before the Tower’s grand doors; a florid red-haired Master sniffled and wiped his nose, and Master Argent kept his cloak tightly wrapped around him.
The Head had clearly seen and heard many classes in his day. Despite snickers from some of the students, he did not react at all to Farley’s interjection. “In addition, a sorcerer must be possessed of sharp mind at all times, and to that end, there is to be no alcohol on the College grounds.”
This elicited a groan from several students. Patris smiled, thin-lipped, before continuing. “You will be assigned to a dormitory room under the guidance of a Master. For the duration of your time at the College, this Master will bear the responsibility of guiding you through your studies. You will obey him and all the Masters of this College in whatever they may ask of you. We have been sorcerers for longer than you have been alive, in some cases.” Here he glanced sideways at Argent, who kept staring straight ahead. “You will place trust in our judgment.”
There followed a long-winded recitation of the history of the College: Lord Guileston’s founding in 1624 and Master Johnson’s creation of the Great Road in the name of Queen Mary in 1691 and Master Collins’ heroics in the driving out of the French in 1698 and Master Woodward’s defense of the College when it was besieged by the French in 1754.
By this time, several of the students were rubbing their arms or noses briskly, their breath white in the air. Malcolm, near Kip, muttered under his breath, “Did they have a master who thawed frozen students?”
The fox grinned, but Emily tsked and stood straighter, keeping her hands at her waist, though she’d complained about the cold previously. “Of course,” Patris droned on, “we cannot speak of this College’s history without speaking of the recent tragedy.”
At this, complaints and hands dropped and red noses pushed eagerly forward. Kip and Coppy did not join the eager anticipation, but looked at each other, and Kip saw in Coppy’s eyes the reflection of his own unease at the memories it stirred.
; “You will all be part of the fight to avenge the losses,” Patris said. He tried to give a stirring oration, and Kip was reminded of Mr. John Adams. He had come to New Cambridge some ten years before to speak out against the danger of the French and to urge the New Cantabrigians to contribute to the war effort. Many had enlisted following his speech (although Max had been thoughtful afterwards and Kip had overheard him telling Mr. Brock that much of Mr. Adams’ rhetoric about ‘a free people’ had been cleverly constructed to have a dual meaning, which had puzzled the young fox because he was only just learning the single meanings of words). Kip remembered Adams’ eloquence even if many of the words had escaped him at the time. Patris had none of the same gift of oration, with the result that what was likely intended to be a stirring call to arms left many of the students disappointed that they had not heard more details of the vicious attack.
Kip’s thoughts wandered during Patris’s speech once he realized he wasn’t going to learn anything new. The night had been a terrible one, spent in fear and worry and choking dust outside the college’s gates, jumping at every noise that might signal another attack or the onset of a full-on war. He hadn’t slept properly for weeks afterwards, and even now if he let his mind wander out on the college grounds, he could picture the forms of the four red brick buildings like dusty ghosts.
Patris went on to talk about the destinations they might expect. “Some of you will become a part of the valuable work being done to make this country habitable, building roads and walls for our newest cities.” He looked at the Calatians as he said this. “Others will participate in the defense of the Empire, against the ever-bolder Spanish incursions and the Oriental threat in India. And a select few will join the Masters of this college to explore and expand the world of magic as sorcerers with a direct commission from King George himself.”
At this, he looked down at Victor Adamson. Kip couldn’t see Adamson’s face, but his back looked confident and smug.
He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Adamson about Farley’s violation of their tent. As he, Emily, and Coppy had approached the gates, they’d heard the calls of ravens shouting for the candidates to get up. They’d been admitted (despite their fears, the demon had recognized them and had opened the gate without being asked) into a general commotion, questions of whether they should leave their bags in the tent, where they should stand and whether they were all admitted or were going to be told the results of the examinations. Adamson had joined the rest as neatly pressed as always, standing beside Farley on the far side of the cluster of students. Kip had seen only his tight-lipped face and expression of concentration.
Adamson might yet learn sorcery. But Kip already knew how to do some spells, and they were all going to learn at the same pace.
Finally, finally, Master Patris concluded his remarks with, “I think we had better introduce you to your Masters inside. Master Argent is looking rather chilly.”
Argent simply exhaled deliberately so that they could see his white breath as he and the other masters entered the Tower. Patris remained outside until the last of the other sorcerers had entered, and then gestured the students inside.
Kip fairly sprang forward, all the tension of the morning releasing in quick steps that carried him to the front of the group. He and Adamson crossed the threshold at the same time, but Kip spared little attention to the other young man. He lifted his head and took in the sight and scent of the White Tower.
The room he’d stepped into filled the entire base of the tower, some eighty feet square. Four arches held up a ceiling twenty feet high at the apex, with fireplaces in the center of the walls to the right and left; the unlit fireplace on the left was a yawning black, cold cavity, while to the right, a great wide mouth spat sparks and heat into the room. Three lizards lay curled up in it, and flames wreathed their scaly forms.
The grand space, the carpet decorated in patterns of trees, the cold, safe embrace of stone: all these Kip had pictured. He had not expected the absence of books or other spellcasting materials. Upon the walls hung portraits of sorcerers, and in the room, a stage had been erected with seventeen chairs facing it. But no bookshelves lined the walls, no potions nor apothecary cabinets full of feathers and glass and sand and incense sat about anywhere.
Behind the stage, he saw as he stepped in and out of the way of the other students, a large Union Jack matching the one outside hung, high up on the wall, and below it, a flag with a symbol that Kip did not immediately recognize. In the still air of the hall, it hung limp, and only by coming up to the stage could he make out the design. It was four wooden wands spread in a fan formation held by a hand, with a different symbol on the body of each wand.
“Take your seats,” Patris said before Kip could look more closely. He hurried back to sit with Coppy and Emily, near where Malcolm was sitting. As he took his seat, he wondered where Saul had sat a year ago, when he’d undergone this same ceremony. Had there been more apprentices? Had Patris been as solemn? Or had they felt only the confidence in their sorcery, the invulnerability that everyone assumed they had, not knowing how close they were to disaster?
The masters arrayed themselves on the stage as they had been outside the door, and Patris stepped forward. “I would like to take this occasion to welcome you officially to the White Tower as students of Prince George’s College of Sorcery.”
The sorcerers applauded briefly. Two or three students joined in and then stopped, abashed. The applause died down as the black-robed masters folded hands beneath their robes. “I will now assign you to your quarters, and the individual masters responsible for you will give you further information about your studies and your life here in the college. In Master Odden’s quarters will be…”
He read off Farley Broadside’s name and two others. When Patris went on to announce Master Argent’s students, Kip sat up straighter, sure that he and Coppy would be assigned to the young sorcerer. But they were not, though Malcolm and Adamson both were. The next master was Campbell, who had Smith and Cook, and then Waldo, and then Sharpe, who had only two students—Sharpe was the sour, black-haired master who matched the reedy, obstreperous voice Kip had overheard the previous night.
Emily’s name had not been called either. As the other fourteen students clustered around their assigned masters, Patris stepped down from the stage, followed by Master Windsor. Emily leaned in to Kip and said, “What do you think? Are they giving us Patris or Windsor?”
“I hope Windsor,” Kip whispered back. “And you needn’t whisper so loud. I can hear you quite well.”
“You may stand,” Patris said as the two sorcerers approached the students. Kip, Coppy, and Emily obliged. “Your Master will be Master Windsor, who has graciously agreed to shepherd you through the school year even with all the difficulties your presence will create.”
Emily started to say something, but Kip caught her motion and nudged her, and she fell silent. He flicked his tail back against his legs and felt the brush of Coppy’s against his. Patris continued on. “In deference to the concerns raised by some of the sorcerers, you will not be housed with the other students on the second and third floors of the tower.”
“What sorcerers were concerned about me?” Emily asked.
Patris ignored her. “Penfold and Lutris, there is a small room in the back of the basement that has been cleared for your use.”
“The basement?” It was Kip’s turn to be nudged, this time by Coppy.
“If you would prefer, you may use one of the outdoor tents.” Patris appeared to be having difficulty restraining a smile. “The basement is not heated, but is at least sheltered from the wind and somewhat from the elements.”
“Basement’ll be lovely,” Coppy said. “Hope it’s somewhat damp. It’ll feel just like home.”
“Miss Carswell.” Patris turned to her. “Given the impropriety of lodging you with any of our male students and the paucity of alternate accommodations, we have reserved a room for you at the Founders’ Rest Inn. You will live there and c
ome up to the College for classes.”
Emily’s mouth hung open for a moment before she recovered her voice. “You mean I must climb that hill every morning?”
“Vigorous daily exercise is highly beneficial,” Patris said serenely.
“I’ll be left out of everything!”
She had raised her voice enough to draw the attention of many nearby students. Patris glanced to one side at the silencing of conversation in the hall, but forged on. “You will be able to attend classes. The cost of the room, of course, you may repay to the college once you find employment with the education we will be providing.”
“I’ll stay in one of the tents.” She folded her arms.
“You can stay with us,” Kip said. He didn’t have to look at Coppy to know that the otter was nodding.
“Penfold, I hardly think that is a solution. The propriety—”
“Thank you, Kip,” Emily said. “I accept.”
“Miss Carswell.” Patris held up a hand in the now otherwise silent Great Hall. “I’m afraid I cannot allow—”
“She knows us,” Kip said. “She stayed in my family’s house last night.”
“There you are.” Emily smiled. “Besides, they’re only allowed to marry their own kind. What would they want with a human woman?”
It wasn’t want that kept the Calatians from the human women in New Cambridge, Kip reflected. He’d known a girl who’d kissed Luke Cooper, a dormouse a little older than he was, and Cooper had been attacked one night, leg and arm broken, several teeth knocked out, and one ear torn nearly off, by a bunch of men who’d told him to “leave humans alone.” Johnny Lapelli had told Kip that two boys had forced themselves on his sister Letitia, but no punishment had been issued. Kip privately believed that one of the boys was Farley, but had not been able to find out even that much. So the proscription did not hold evenly for male and female Calatians. And then, of course, there’d been Saul.