by Tim Susman
For a half-second, Kip thought he could make that story work. But that was what Windsor was baiting him to do. “No,” he said, letting magic drain away from him. “I started it. I was trying to put it out.”
“I thought Patris had taught you basic spell cessation.” Windsor gestured with one hand, and then his expression went from anger to confusion. “Penfold, exactly what spell did you cast?”
Kip recited the spell without pushing magic into it, and Windsor stopped him before he’d gotten halfway through. “Yes, yes, I know that one.” He narrowed his eyes and turned toward the fire, which was now licking up the sides of the stone walls. “Burkle,” he said, “fetch Master Odden.”
Odden, a rotund, bearded master, was not one Kip had spoken to yet. But the footsteps that came a moment later on the stair were too light and too soon to be his. Windsor turned with a frown that became a sigh, and leaned in close to Kip. “Do not speak,” he said. “I will handle this.”
Master Patris burst forth from the stair, robe askew, hair disheveled. “Who’s burning down the Tower?” he cried, and skidded to a halt when he saw the fire. “Windsor—Penfold.” He pronounced Kip’s name with all the usual distaste, and a small addition of fear. “Windsor, what are you allowing him to play at? Look at that fire! It’s growing!”
“I was not present when the spell was cast,” Windsor said, and Kip’s heart, which had for a moment entertained the possibility that he might escape punishment, sank again. “But both Penfold and I have attempted to banish the fire, without success. I have sent for Odden, but there appears to be no immediate threat.”
“No threat? No threat?” The white-haired sorcerer gestured, and the carpet edge flew back from the fire against Kip and Windsor’s ankles. He gestured again, and his eyes widened. “A fire that our magic cannot extinguish? How is this not a threat? Even stone can be made to burn, and if this fire grows—”
“What fire?” Odden levered his bulk down the stairs and into the Great Hall. His eyes skimmed Windsor and Patris and came to rest on Kip. “Windsor?”
“Penfold has cast a fire, and none of us can extinguish it. We were not here when he cast it.”
“And it keeps growing!” Patris snapped. The waves of fear coming off him made Kip’s nose wrinkle.
A breeze against the fox’s tail pushed back both the scent of the Head’s fear and the flames, at least for the moment. Kip didn’t dare look away from Odden while the sorcerer was staring at him. “Well?” the bearded man said. “What did you do, Penfold?”
“I cast the fire spell from Altering the Fundamental,” Kip said quickly. “Exactly as it was in the book. I tried it outside and it didn’t work there. I just…I can’t stop thinking about it and I knew Master Windsor was on the way, so I cast it in a fireplace. I didn’t think there’d be any harm.”
“You broke the spell?”
“Yes.” Kip gained a small bit of confidence at Odden’s calmness and belief in him.
“Hm. Allow me to try as well. I know a few tricks with fire.”
The large sorcerer turned his attention from Kip to the flames for a moment. However he was gathering magic or casting spells, Kip didn’t know, but after a few seconds, his frown deepened. After another few, he reached up to scratch his beard. “Whoever is pushing air at the fire, stop it. It isn’t helping.”
“It’s the only thing keeping it back,” Patris said.
“You are feeding the fire,” Odden replied equably, “and it is more likely to explode that way. You could pull air away from it, but it is a magical fire, and there is no guarantee that would work. Have you tried Blackstone’s Uunraveling?”
“Of course not.” Patris’s face reddened as the breeze died away. “The creature has barely had a month of instruction; he’s not likely to have added bindings to his spell.”
Kip’s fists clenched, but before he could say or do anything, Emily laid a hand on his arm and squeezed, and that allowed Odden time to answer. “We are all of us God’s creatures, Patris. That this student has introduced an unexpected and ultimately harmless element—”
“Harmless!”
Windsor interposed. “While I would not characterize the action as completely harmless, it certainly seems unlikely to become an inferno engulfing the Tower. Now, Odden, if you…”
His words trailed off as Odden murmured a series of syllables, at the end of which the fire vanished.
The air around them chilled instantly. Kip almost cried out at the loss of the fire, at the cold, dead ashes that replaced it, and indeed behind him he heard the phosphorus lizards lamenting its banishment. But Emily’s grip on his arm relaxed, and Coppy, beside him, exhaled. Even the tension among the sorcerers lessened. “There,” Odden said.
“There remains the question of how this—how he managed to bind his spell.” Patris ran a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to subdue it; it remained bristled out rather like Kip’s tail when he’d been scared.
“I didn’t cast a binding,” he spoke up as the sorcerers turned to him. “I cast the fire spell just like it was in the book.”
“Burkle, can you verify this?” Odden asked.
Burkle’s voice piped up, thin and high. “Aye, sir. Wasn’t paying much attention, and it’s been an age since I cast a fire spell—”
“Well.” The large, bearded master waved a hand to quiet the demon, and examined Kip. “Cast it again.”
“What?” Patris actually took a step toward Odden before stopping himself. “Have you gone mad?”
“I was about to suggest the same.” Windsor’s sour tone sounded aggrieved that Odden had beaten him to it. “There are three of us here, and we have demonstrated that we can control the fire. What harm is there in it?”
“There are two of you here.” Patris swept his robe around himself and then glared at Kip. “And one student who will bring food up from the Inn for the next week as punishment for casting spells in the Tower without supervision. See Master Sharpe in the morning before class. And you, Windsor, you’re responsible for anything that happens.”
With that, he stalked away and up the staircase. Windsor and Odden exchanged looks in which Kip thought he saw a small measure of frustration, but the only words spoken were by Odden. “Go on, Penfold,” he said.
Emily released Kip’s arm. He cleared his mind of the worry of how he was supposed to bring food up the hill and called magic to him. The words of the fire spell returned to his mind even as the purple glow began to wreathe his paws, and he sent all of his magic into it, hungering to see the flame again. But again, nothing happened; his arms remained glowing and purple and the hearth remained cold and dark.
“Certainly—” Master Windsor began.
Kip interrupted him without thinking. “No, I’m sorry, I know what I did wrong.”
Again he cast the spell and this time he let the scent of the fire fill his head. Magic sang inside him and the spell came out with ash and flame around every syllable.
The fire exploded to life with a fierceness that made all of them flinch, all of them but Kip, who had expected it and reveled in it. The elementals across the room cooed in delight.
“Very nicely done.” Odden looked pleased. “Now, extinguish it.”
Kip found it easier this time to break the spell. Whatever pleasure he’d gotten from casting it the first time, whatever pride he’d taken in the fire, both were muted by the situation and by the repetition. If he could indeed call this fire whenever he wished, then breaking the spell wasn’t banishing it forever. He released the spell, and the hearth lay cold and grey again.
“Fascinating.” Odden stared at the ash.
“I dislike mysteries,” Windsor said. “Penfold, you spoke it exactly the same way?”
“Yes,” Kip said. “It’s stuck in my head. I couldn’t not.”
The sorcerer turned on Emily. “I don’t suppose you have the perspicacity to recall the previous spell as compared to this one?”
“I don’t suppose perspicacity has
anything to do with it,” she retorted. “But as far as my limited training allows, they sounded the same to me. Would this binding spell make it longer?”
“Aye,” Odden said. “Though it can be prepared ahead and then activated.”
“I was with him for a good bit of time previous, and I don’t believe he prepared anything.” Emily folded her arms.
“I didn’t,” Kip put in.
“The spell and extra power must have come from somewhere.” Odden rubbed his beard. “Even beyond your clear affinity for fire.”
Windsor’s head snapped up at those words, but Kip spoke before Windsor could. “Sir,” he said, “I have felt a burst of extra power here, back when I first arrived.”
Briefly, he explained what he’d felt the first time he’d touched the Tower. Odden turned to Windsor and said, “Why have we not been told about this?”
“Ask Patris or Argent,” Windsor said. “I’d not heard it myself.” He stared at Kip keenly. “Did you feel a similar sensation tonight?”
“No, but I was feeling very…very excited about the fire, otherwise I certainly would have waited to cast it. I was carried away, I suppose, and I might have missed something else happening.” There had also been no voice this time, but as he hadn’t told anyone about the voice the last time, he felt that was not a critical component.
“This is an interesting problem.” Odden regarded Kip for a moment longer, then turned to Windsor. “Delighted to have it resolved. Feel free to call upon me again should any more questions of fire arise.”
He turned to leave. Kip watched him with some regret; it had felt good to hear another master praise his abilities, and now he didn’t know whether he would be able to see Odden again. An idea sprang to his mind. “Master Odden?”
The portly man turned. Kip had been about to ask whether he needed an apprentice, but his mind supplied a better question even as he opened his mouth. “Would you have the free time to instruct me on the uses of fire? Only it seems quite dangerous for me to experiment on my own, and I would not want to trouble Master Windsor for more of his time than he is already generously allowing us.”
Odden raised a hand to his beard and stroked it. “In the King’s College, you know there is a workshop devoted to fire spells for just that reason.” His eyes met Windsor’s and Kip thought there was something there he didn’t want to give voice to. “I suppose if Master Windsor has no objection, then—”
He hadn’t even finished the sentence before Windsor was gesturing with a pale hand. “By all means. It will allow me to focus more attention on those who need it.” With a stare in Coppy’s direction, the tall sorcerer strode out of the hall.
Odden didn’t spare any attention for Windsor’s departure, nor did he seem to notice Coppy’s expression or Emily’s hand on his shoulder. “Very well, Penfold. Shall we say Tuesday evening for our first session?”
“Yes, sir.” Kip let his tail hang free to wag behind him, a rare luxury when he was sure Farley wasn’t about. Even though he had to serve a punishment, he still felt the whole evening had gone rather well.
Emily and Coppy were inclined to agree, and Malcolm when they told him. “Food comes up Monday and Thursday, so you’ve got to take a morning walk twice,” the Irishman said. “If you care for company, I’d go along.”
“And me,” Coppy said.
“I’ll stay in bed, thank you.” Emily smiled at them. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy the company, but I see you gents quite enough as it is.”
“Boys’ morning out it is.” Malcolm clapped Kip on the shoulder. “We’ll show Patris.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to forbid me from enjoying the experience,” Kip said.
“Oh,” Emily said, “And Kip in a very by-the-way sort of manner has told us that he can smell demons.”
“Potent gift.” Malcolm whistled and turned to Coppy. “Can you as well?”
The otter shook his head. “But I can’t smell half the things he can that aren’t magic.”
“If I ask you if there are demons about,” Malcolm turned back to Kip, “will you tell me?”
“Of course.” Kip grinned. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
“For sure and we are.” Malcolm reached out and clasped the fox’s paw.
When Kip visited Master Sharpe in the morning, he was told that although most food did come up only twice a week, milk and bread came up daily. Still, a week of morning walks did not seem as harsh a punishment as Patris had perhaps thought it was, especially with company. The conversation with the sneering, condescending Master Sharpe, who spent a good deal of time on the value of the food and on instructions so unnecessarily detailed that Kip felt as though he’d already spilled the milk twice, might actually be the worst of the punishment. Kip did learn from it, though, that Farley had been tasked with fetching the food the prior week as punishment for his attack on Kip’s father. He couldn’t help but think that attacking someone with intent to harm was far worse than experimenting with sorcery, and shouldn’t incur the same punishment, but Sharpe was unlikely to be sympathetic to his complaints, so he kept them to himself.
At the Inn, Old John’s son Gabriel greeted Kip, Malcolm, and Coppy, and showed them to an irregular pile of twelve crates. “Usually it just up and vanishes,” Gabriel said. He squinted at Kip. “You been magicking it up?”
“No.” Kip raised his paws. “That’s translocational magic. All I can do is levitate.”
“And start fires,” Malcolm murmured, and Coppy elbowed him before Kip could.
“I’m serving a sort of punishment.” Kip tried to keep Gabriel’s attention.
“Ah.” The tall young man, a few years Kip’s elder, leaned against one of the crates. “Hope it’s all worth it. There was another fight yesterday. Marshall Winters brought ’em in here to sort ’em out.”
Kip’s ears folded down and his heart pounded even as his chest went cold. “A fight about me?”
“Aye.” Gabriel warmed to his story. “The dormice, two of them, plus that squirrel they’re always with…”
“The Coopers,” Coppy said. Technically David, the red squirrel, was a Branch, but he had been living with the Coopers for so long that people included him with the family name now.
“Aye, and the Porters. The other mice. They was going on even when they was in here about the College bein’ a corruption in the town and how you was makin’ everything worse.” He kept his eyes on Kip, neutral. “But the Coopers, they said you wasn’t doing this for yourself but for all the Calatians, and it was a good thing. The Coopers, they go up there, don’t they?”
Kip nodded. “Tom and Amelia are calyxes, yes.”
“Ah.” Gabriel nodded in satisfaction. “So that’s what the other mice meant by calling them ‘traitor.’ That’s when the squirrel threw a punch.”
The fox’s stomach turned, though he hadn’t eaten anything yet that day. Coppy, too, remained silent, and finally Malcolm rescued them. “It’s a fine time we’re spending here and sure, I’m never one to refuse a story, but as the fox said, we’re serving a punishment and so much though we regret it, we’d best be moving along. Kip?”
“Aye.” Kip pulled in magic and tried to think about how he was going to manage twelve objects of different sizes. “Do you think you two can take some of the boxes? I don’t want to stack them…”
His two friends eyed the stack, and then Coppy turned to Gabriel. “Have you got a table we could borrow?”
Gabriel seemed as confused by the question as Kip. “Borrow? Aye, we’ve a table with a broken leg I’m to mend today, but…”
“Stack the crates on the table, then lift the table,” Coppy said. “All you need do then is keep it level.”
“Smart,” Malcolm said, and Kip squeezed Coppy’s shoulder gratefully.
“By the by,” Gabriel said as he helped them stack boxes onto the table Kip had levitated, “what happened to that woman who was to be boarding here from the College? Did she go home?”
&nbs
p; “She’s boarding with us,” Coppy said.
“In a separate room,” Kip added quickly.
“Oh, aye.” Gabriel dropped a box and lifted the last one to join it. “We didn’t hear a word from the College and we didn’t keep the room, of course.”
“And why should you?” Malcolm asked. “If they’ve not the courtesy to notify you it’s not needed, you needn’t have the courtesy to notify them it’s not available.”
Gabriel wiped his mouth and then looked at the three of them. “So you’re sharing quarters with the young woman?”
“Only these two,” Malcolm said.
“And she has a separate room,” Kip repeated.
Gabriel didn’t react to that. “Aye, well,” he said, “if she’s trying to be a sorcerer, I suppose she’ll be judged by the Lord God right enough.”
“As will we all.” Malcolm started toward the youth, even though Gabriel had the advantage of four inches and probably thirty pounds.
Kip held Malcolm back. “The young lady is a friend of ours, and we are all of us trying to learn sorcery for the betterment of the Empire and New Cambridge, so last May’s attack will never be repeated.”
That got to Gabriel; his face went dark and he met Kip’s eyes. “If you can do that,” he said, “I’ll not hear a word said against you.”
“We’ve done it so far,” Coppy said with a big smile, and after a moment, Gabriel returned the smile.
Levitating the table up the hill was harder than it sounded, until Kip figured out halfway up that he could also sit atop the table. So he sat at the edge, tail hanging off and flowing in the chill autumn breeze, and then Coppy and Malcolm said they were tired of walking, so they squeezed up beside him, and the three of them rode all the way up to the gates, where Kip made them all jump down so it wouldn’t seem like they were having fun.
At lunch that day, Adamson approached Kip and asked in a low voice if he might have a private word outside the tent. The fox made sure that Farley and Carmichael were both still quite occupied with their meal (a loaf of bread), and nodded once.