The Tower and the Fox: Book 1 of The Calatians

by Tim Susman

  But Patris, if he was aware of that at all, did not mention any of those incidents. “There will be talk,” he said.

  “Then we will give her the small room and we will stay in the basement proper.” Kip had no idea what he was getting himself and Coppy into, but helping Emily—and getting to stay with her—was worth it.

  Patris shook his head of white hair and then turned to Windsor for one final appeal. “They are in your charge,” he said. “What say you?”

  Windsor measured the three of them and rubbed his chin. “For the time they are here, if they are applying themselves, there will be no time for impropriety. And if they are not, they will not be here long enough for it to matter.”

  “You bear full responsibility for this arrangement,” Patris told Windsor, and then the Head stalked off across the hall.

  “All right.” Emily smiled cheerfully, though Kip was bristling at the tone of Windsor’s words. “It’s settled, then. Where’s this basement?”

  The rest of the students were filing toward a staircase at the back left corner of the room, a cheerful doorway lit from smokeless sconces on either side. But Master Windsor led Emily, Kip, and Coppy to the opposite wall, to a dark doorway that smelled of earth and rot and made Kip’s fingers itch with cold.

  Windsor held a lantern to light their way down. They descended one flight of stairs to a landing, where a faintly-lit corridor led off to the right. When Windsor’s light had descended farther, Kip peered down the corridor and heard nothing, though he smelled lye and felt a dampness in the air. He sniffed and then hurried to follow the others, down a dogleg to a stout wooden door.

  Behind the door lay a room half the size of the hall above it, and here were the bookshelves Kip had dreamed of; here were the tomes and papers covered with archaic symbols. They littered the floor in careless piles, crammed full the shelves against every wall, and shelves were stacked against shelves. Mildew and dust filled the air, and things scuttled away below papers as Windsor, with a gesture, called magical light into being in the tarnished sconces on the walls.

  Emily coughed. “It’s not quite the Royal Crown,” she said finally. “It’ll take some fixing up.”

  “Your room, Miss Carswell, is in the back.” Windsor pointed to a decrepit door hanging on one hinge, in the middle of the far wall. “Penfold and Lutris, you may move the beds currently there out into this space. I will have one brought down for Miss Carswell.”

  “Can we clean up a little?” Coppy said. “Only it’s a little too much like home, if you take my meaning. I used to sleep on old papers the Londoners’d thrown out, but these look too valuable for sleeping.”

  “Do they?” Windsor picked up one of the papers from the ground gingerly between two fingers. He read from it, slowly. “Being an account of the expenses incurred by His Majesty’s College in the month of April of the year seventeen hundred and fifty-one at the firm of Slauson and Hedges.”

  “There’s a Slauson and Hedges in Boston,” Emily said. “They sell cloth.”

  “Indeed.” Master Windsor stared at the paper a moment longer, and then it tore itself into sixteen equal pieces. He let them flutter to the ground. “Do with the paper what you will.” The sorcerer gestured again, and a path cleared through the mounds and piles, from the door to the back room. He gestured, and the Calatians and woman stepped down onto a stone floor. “The floor and walls are fireproof, and anything of value has been removed to the library long hence.”

  “Where is the library, sir?” Kip’s tail twitched. There, at last, would be the reserve of information he craved.

  “Third floor,” the master said, “but it is off limits to students until you have completed one month of class. When you have been grounded in the basics of sorcery, you may explore what others have researched. We are already quite aware of what the three of you are able to accomplish with minimal guidance.”

  It was impossible to tell whether the look he gave them was approving or not. “And since the topic has come up, let me explain to you what that first month will consist of. Master Patris will educate you on the basics of sorcery and will begin to teach you physical magic. I am in charge of filling the enormous gaps in what passes for your knowledge of history, and will also be teaching the ethics of magic. Master Argent will introduce you to translocational magic, which you will begin studying in one month, and at that time, Master Odden will introduce you to the theory of alchemical magic, which you will not undertake until January, if you are selected to continue your studies here.”

  “When do we get spiritual magic?” Kip asked, and when Windsor glowered, he added hastily, “Sir.”

  “In your last year of apprenticeship, if at all. Spiritual magic is highly dangerous and only select sorcerers attempt it. But that assumes you will pass your examinations at the end of November.”

  “November?” Coppy had been looking around the basement and now snapped his head up to Windsor. “That’s barely two months away.”

  “Indeed. The pressing need for apprentices has forced us to accelerate the testing schedule. Where once we could spend a year coaxing the best out of each student, now we must make swift determinations about the ability of each, and place them accordingly.” The sorcerer’s expression got even more sour, which Kip had not believed possible.

  “It sounds like you don’t approve of that,” he said, trying to build a rapport.

  “Whether I approve or not is immaterial.” Windsor’s tone was cold as a slap to Kip’s figuratively outstretched paw. “It is what has been decided. So you will work as hard as possible over two months, because your success reflects on me as a mentor.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kip said, and Coppy and Emily joined in.

  Windsor’s hard eyes surveyed them, his jaw set. “Allow me to say,” he said, “that while you have accomplished tasks that some find impressive, you have not progressed any further than a student of average ability would here in three weeks. If your ambition is to serve as a builder of roads, well done. You are on your way. If you harbor higher hopes, then I strongly suggest you erase any sense of accomplishment from your minds as of this moment and apply yourselves to learning as much as you can in the two months you are allotted.”

  “Yes, sir.” They chorused better this time, although Emily looked as resentful as Kip felt.

  The sorcerer gestured around the basement. “As a rule, there will be no unsupervised practice of sorcery in the walls of the Tower. However, I will make an exception for today; if you wish to use sorcery to clean up, you may. I do not wish to be present as you do it, as your technique is undoubtedly so atrocious that it might cause me permanent damage to refrain from correcting it.” He pointed up the stairs. “Meals will be served in the dining tent and announced once. You may leave the grounds of the College but you must be back in the Tower by midnight or you will serve a detention. If you need me for any reason, simply call my name and I will hear you.”

  “From just here, or from anywhere?” Coppy asked.

  “From here only, Lutris. I am not your personal demon.”

  “Will we get personal demons?” Emily asked.

  Windsor fixed her with a stare. “You may, when you feel confident enough to summon one, if—and I cannot stress this enough times—you succeed in remaining here long enough to be taught how.”

  They stared silently. He swept his gaze across the three faces. “Is there anything else?” They all shook their heads. “Then I will take my leave of you.”

  At the door, he paused to look back. “In your place, I would apply myself to find a way to heat the room. You Calatians may not be cold, but Miss Carswell will be.”

  “He’s right,” Emily said when he’d gone. “It’s not bad now, but come winter, I’m going to need some heat.”

  “We will too.” Coppy patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure out something.”

  “Once we get into the library.” Kip rubbed his paws together. Just a few weeks to wait.

  “First things f
irst.” Emily turned around. “How shall we arrange this? I don’t want to have you two sleeping in the open floor.”

  Coppy pointed to the shelves along one wall. “What if we pulled those out, arranged them to make sort of a room back in the other corner?”

  “Clearing the papers away first, of course.”

  They looked at each other, and Emily smiled. “Thank you both for inviting me down here. It might have been warmer down at the inn, but I’ve no doubt this will be the better situation.”

  After an hour of work, Kip thought she might be reconsidering. They had shifted large stacks of paper to the front of the room, clearing away the back corner, and then Kip and Emily lifted the shelves while Coppy guided them into place. They tried stacking one on top of another, but the lower one creaked alarmingly and the top one listed forward, and Coppy said he wasn’t sleeping beneath the Shelves of Damocles, so they settled for the four-foot-high wall around the space they would sleep in. Despite the disgusting nature of the work, Kip smiled throughout. He was building his living space in the White Tower, and he was going to be sleeping here in the heart of it.

  Dust blanketed all three of them; Kip sneezed frequently and his eyes had been watering for the past hour. Emily, though determined not to show her disgust at the various insects whose homes they’d displaced, nonetheless refused to touch anything with her hands, and flinched whenever a stack of papers fell. Kip was sure he had spiders in his fur, and Coppy had bruised two fingers when he was trying to adjust a shelf and Kip had let go of his spell too early.

  “Nobody said anything about where the baths are, did they?” Emily pulled spiderwebs from her sleeve.

  “Nor about brooms or sweeping,” Coppy said.

  Kip dropped the second bedroll in the empty space. “I suppose they have demons to do the sweeping for them.”

  “It is curious,” Emily said, “the lack of servants here. I mean, they have demons do some things, but why not have someone to do the cooking and cleaning? You don’t need demons for that?”

  “There used to be women who would come up and do the cleaning. Mrs. Bannister and her daughter, at least. But after the attack, the sorcerers dismissed them all.”

  “Terrified of any strangers in the College?”

  Kip nodded. “They said it was because they had fewer buildings and could manage, but I don’t know that I believe that. They wouldn’t even let us in the Tower until we’d been accepted. ”

  “They’ve got women and Calatians doing their cleaning for them now.” Emily looked around, holding her hands out in front of her, dirt and grime streaking her white skin.

  “I don’t think that’s why they put us in the basement,” Coppy said, brushing his paws together.

  “No?”

  “No.” He grinned. “I think they put us in the basement to encourage us to leave of our own accord.”

  “That’s probably right.” Kip spotted a flash of red leather in one of the bookshelves, brighter than any of the surrounding worn leather and cloth. He reached idly for it with a claw.

  “If they really want me to leave, they’ll hide the baths.” Emily picked up a towel from her bag and walked toward the door. “I’ll find them and tell you where they are. Do you take baths? It must take ages to dry all that fur. Well, I suppose you don’t mind so much…” She gestured to Coppy.

  “We bathe,” Kip said. “Not frequently, because it does take a bit to dry, and we smell strongly when wet.” Emily opened her mouth and then shut it again, and he smiled. “Like a dog, yes.”

  “I wasn’t going to say it. Well, yes, I was, but I stopped myself. I’m learning so much.” She waved to them. “Wish me luck.”

  When she’d gone, Coppy said he wanted to try to find a demon to sweep the floor where their bedrolls were, or at least a broom, because the stone was thick with dust and cobwebs, and though they could use spells to pick up piles of paper and books, they could not as easily pick up thousands of minute particles. Kip had managed a small cobweb, but it would be easier to pick everything up with his fingers.

  So Coppy walked off, and Kip, left alone, stared at the shelves and the mass of books and papers in them. One, a little red leather book, stood out among the others. Kip leaned closer, then teased at the top of the book with a claw, working it backwards and forwards. It came out easily, a slender volume only a bit larger than his paw, and no dust marred his fur as it fell onto his pads. Curious, he thought, that it should remain so clean. The cover bore no marking, so he opened it to read the first page.

  Being the Journal of Peter Cadno, Apprentice to the King’s College of Sorcery, London, England, 1614.

  He brought the small, cramped writing closer to the light to read it. The pages had browned, but not so much that he couldn’t make out the letters with some effort. Nearly two hundred years old, and the book still felt firm and solid, not falling apart like many more recent ones. It wouldn’t surprise Kip to learn that there was magic on it, he reflected, and that made him more eager still to read.

  The first entry was dated October, 1614:

  It seems to me a good idea to keep this journal, not only for my own records but to preserve my experience for those who might come after. I know not how long it may be until my fortune is duplicated. Perhaps never. But I owe my current position to my family, who supported my endeavours, and to Mister Jeremiah Wood, whose misfortune brought the books of spelles to me with which I was able to prove my merits to the College and convince the Masters to allow me to enter their ranks.

  So this Peter Cadno had come to sorcery much as Kip had, by the unconventional procurement of a spell book. There were many disadvantaged in London who might not be welcome in the College unless they could demonstrate their ability, and perhaps, Kip thought, his situation was not so different from this Peter Cadno’s.

  He flipped the page, and then footsteps on the stairs made him stop and hide the book back in the shelf. The motion was instinctive, even though he knew it was likely just Coppy returning. His nose was clogged with dust and he couldn’t catch any scents, even on the breeze flowing into the room from the open door.

  “…but I wish to see for myself what you have done.” Master Windsor’s voice came to him, and a moment later the man stepped through the door into the basement, Coppy trailing behind him. The sorcerer surveyed the basement, his expression fixed, and then his eyes fell on Kip. “I have told Lutris that we will provide brooms for your cleaning, but that the demons of the Tower are not yours to command. When you have been allowed by Master Odden to summon your own demons, then you may put them to work as you like.” His lip curled briefly and then flattened back into its usual straight line.

  “Yes, sir.” Kip stepped away from the shelf with the book. He felt obscurely that if Master Windsor knew he had discovered something useful in the room, the sorcerer might take it away from him.

  “Where is Miss Carswell?”

  “Gone to take a bath,” Coppy said. “Was dirty work you set us to, sir.”

  If Kip had said those words, he would have filed them to a sharper point, but Coppy spoke so pleasantly that Windsor did not even turn the otter’s way. “It will not be the last such task you will be set here. Count yourself lucky if at the end of your education, your worst experience is a coating of dust and insects.” He took a breath. “I wished to speak to you both without Miss Carswell present, and now is as propitious a time as any.

  “You are no doubt aware of your position in history. I will say that although your motivations may include the advancement of your race, neither of you showed evidence of that as your primary goal, which is a point in your favor. Not,” he held up a hand, “because I do not believe in the advancement of your race. What I believe is immaterial. But because if your primary motivation is the attainment of skill in sorcery, you will make better sorcerers.”

  And, Kip thought, remembering Thomas Cartwright’s words, because then we are not viewed as such a threat. But he simply nodded to Windsor, who was waiting for his
acknowledgment before continuing. “There are many at this college who believe you will not succeed. This is a reality of your life here. There are some who may take it upon themselves to make it more difficult for you to succeed. You may be certain that I will defend you against any incident such as the one that occurred last night—a cowardly and ineffective attempt to frighten you. But you will face more than that.”

  “Will you help us, sir?” Kip asked.

  “In my capacity as your mentor, I am bound to help you, because your progress through the college will reflect on me.”

  Coppy spoke, again so genially that the remark did not come off as sharp as Kip would have made it. “I doubt very much if Patris would hold our failures against you.”

  “Patris is a competent administrator and in many ways a brilliant sorcerer,” Windsor said. “His esteem is not a large influence in my life. Yes, I will help you, and here is the first thing I will tell you, which you may also share with Miss Carswell: your continuing education here at the College depends on your ability to impress a Master enough that he wishes to work with you as his apprentice for three years. Otherwise, you will be sent to make roads or walls, and I consider that a failure.”

  “At least one of us can try to impress you, sir,” Coppy said.

  Now Windsor did turn to him. “I am extraordinarily difficult to impress,” he said, and that made the otter’s smile falter.

  “How can we impress a Master?” Kip made an effort to keep his voice earnest, not desperate.

  “That you will no doubt have to learn over the next two months.”

  Windsor turned to leave, but Coppy stopped him. “Sir? Do you believe we can succeed as sorcerers?”

  The older man gazed levelly back. “As I have told you, it is immaterial what I believe.”

  And in the silence that followed that remark, he left.

  Their books were brought down by a demon who looked like a small man with goat’s horns and a goat’s legs, who wore no clothing and acted completely unashamed of his nakedness. Knowing demons even as little as he did, Kip suspected that the guise was meant to discomfit them, and so where Coppy asked concernedly if the demon wanted pants or a robe, Kip simply ignored the state of dishabille as he did the tingle in his nose.