by Tim Susman
There the page ended, and Kip closed the book, thinking on the January 28 entry. Aloud, he said, “Which sorcerers have we not met?”
Coppy looked up from his book. “Jaeger, Barrett, Sharpe.”
“I’ve met Sharpe.” Kip grimaced. “Who else?”
“Ah…Warrington, Campbell, Waldo, Brown.” The otter’s eyes gleamed. “Did I miss any?”
“I don’t think so, but we can ask Malcolm tomorrow.”
“Why?”
Kip tapped the red journal. “Peter seems to have tried talking to a sorcerer nobody liked who was doing distasteful research. It was spiritual, though.”
“I don’t even know what the sorcerers we have met are researching. And I’ll never get spiritual magic, never. I can’t even make fire, Kip.”
“Neither can Emily,” Kip said reasonably.
“Speaking of, she was making more remarks about the chill down here. Have you any ideas?”
Kip shook his head. “I can make a fire but I have to sustain the magic ones, and the non-magic ones smoke.”
“What about just heat? Can we get heat from somewhere?”
“I’ll ask Master Odden.” Kip set the book aside. Again, Coppy hadn’t even asked who Peter was. “In the meantime, let’s think of ways to find out what everyone is researching and maybe if there’s someone nobody likes.”
Friday morning, though, before he could put any of the plan into effect, Kip had to serve the last day of his punishment. Malcolm and Coppy did not accompany him this time, though they did walk him to the gate in case Farley was about. Friday was a light bread and milk day, and Kip could handle it easily on his own.
Old John himself pointed Kip to the boxes and added, as he did, “Tell your father I’ve an order going to New York next week should you need to send a message there. It’d be no trouble.”
“Thank you,” Kip said automatically, and then flicked his ears. “A message? Why would Dad need to send a message to New York?”
“Potter told me he’d sent to Boston already, so I guessed he might appreciate a message to New York as well.” John raised a hand and made to leave.
“One moment.” Kip stepped toward the heavyset man. “I mean, why would he send a message?”
“To the Calatians there.” The old man’s forehead creased. “To the other fox families. Surely your father…I mean, I heard two days ago…” John read his confusion, and the lines in his forehead vanished, replaced by pity. “You’ve not been told. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be the one…”
Kip’s chest chilled so much that the words of the fire spell raced through his mind. “Tell me, please.”
“Well…” The man spoke slowly. “I have heard that the Cartwrights have broken off the engagement of their daughter to you.”
“Oh.” Kip didn’t need to ask why.
After a moment, John put a thick hand on Kip’s shoulder. “Sorry, lad, but there are other foxes, you know. Ones who will take pride in what you’re doing.”
Slowly, the fox shook his head. “If they can’t take pride here, with the College as our neighbours…” He bit his lip and resisted the urge to run to the Cartwrights’ house that moment. “Thank you for telling me, John.”
“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper said again. “And do tell your father about the message.”
“Aye,” Kip said. “Thank you for that as well.”
He brooded all the way up the hill. At times like this, he felt he knew what Peter meant about despair. Even if he won the regard of the sorcerers, it seemed it must come at the expense of his ties to New Cambridge and the community he’d grown up with. As he trudged up past the maple trees whose leaves were edging from gold into brown, his first thoughts were angry: if the town didn’t want him, then he didn’t need the town. Once he had learned sorcery, he would be able to travel the world and find a wife anywhere who would be happy to bear his cubs and continue his name. It was exactly the familiarity with the sorcerers that made his fellows here so wary of them.
But the greater the distance between him and the town, as the slope of Founders Hill eased up to the gates of the College, the more his thoughts turned to repairing what he’d done. The thought of confronting the town was overwhelming, but he could not just sever ties, not when his father and mother still lived here and would continue to do so, not when any wife he did find, be it in New York or London or Calcutta, would most likely return here to live.
He told only Coppy about the news, and laid out his dilemma: to abandon the town and focus on his studies, or to devote significant energy to changing the minds of the people of New Cambridge.
The otter rubbed his whiskers and grinned. “Aye, well, changing the mind of a town is no easy thing. But who says you must change all the minds? Seems to me the most urgent need is with one family. Just as we search for one sorcerer to take us on here at the college, you know?”
Kip stared and then laughed. “Coppy, you’re a genius,” he said. “I’ll send a message to the Cartwrights today.”
And yet, Coppy’s genius did not manifest itself in other areas. Under Master Windsor’s glare, he continued to struggle with control of physical spells. Malcolm had been right when he’d said Coppy was a better sorcerer than ten of the students, but unfortunately, he practiced with three of the six who surpassed him, and Master Windsor never failed to remind him of it.
“Three seconds,” he said after Coppy’s levitated marble dipped and wobbled. “As I recall, Miss Carswell had surpassed three seconds of stability the first week of spellcasting, and Penfold has never held one for less than, what was it, Penfold, twelve?”
Neither Kip nor Emily answered; the one time Kip had pointed out that Coppy could hold a rock for ten seconds when Windsor wasn’t present, the sorcerer’s sharp nose had whipped around, and his dark eyes had fixed Kip like an insect with a pin. “Well, then,” he said, “I shall remand Lutris to the class of students destined to be sorcerers who cast their spells only under ideal conditions. I believe they study on a tropical island paradise, attended by young maidens and fed ripe fruit whenever they desire. If that sounds like the sort of school Lutris should be attending, then by all means I will not prevent his leaving Prince George’s to seek it out.”
Emily had tried once to soften Master Windsor’s attitude, as Kip imagined she’d talked to Master Argent. “Must you be so cruel?” she asked softly, leaning in after Windsor had scolded Coppy again.
The sorcerer turned to meet her eyes. “Miss Carswell, I assure you that I am quite competent as an instructor and evaluator of students. There is no need either to protest Lutris’s competence or to push your own under my nose. Master Argent and I have quite different tastes.”
Indeed, Windsor was hardly less sarcastic with Kip and Emily, but as they began practicing new disciplines, his cutting remarks had complimentary edges to them. Like: “Your fine control over your fire is as underdeveloped as your mastery of the basics is impressive.” Or: “Miss Carswell, based on your quick mastery of the basics of translocation, I would have expected you to at least be able to start a fire by now.”
Outside in the tent, Kip and Emily both worked to keep up Coppy’s confidence, but as November drew nearer, the otter resisted even those forays outside. “It’s freezing out,” he said, “and I’ll be good enough to become a road-layer in three weeks. Patris will be glad to be quit of me.”
“But we won’t.” Kip felt the twin aches of losing Coppy and the otter’s indifference to their separation. If only he were cleverer, he was sure that a solution would manifest itself.
“You’ve got plenty to worry yourself with, what with holding fire and heating the basement, not to mention the classes.” Coppy smiled. “Once you’re as good at translocational magic as Emily, you can come visit me.”
“I will,” Kip said, but that alone did not satisfy him.
The Tuesday after Kip had finished his punishment, he entered Odden’s study with burns on his paw and a question. Farley had spit on his tail as he’d p
assed, and he’d kicked one of Farley’s books across the floor, but the exchanged attacks felt formulaic and did not weigh on his mind.
“Penfold,” Penny crackled as he came in. “See, I remember.”
Master Odden turned from his desk as Kip greeted the lizard with a small fire spell in the brazier, something he had thought of on Sunday. Penny’s eyes brightened as the magical flames licked about her, and she crawled up to the edge of the copper bowl. “Oh, too kind, too kind! The air is so cold and that feels like a warm breeze, it does.”
“If you’ve finished play,” Odden intoned, “I thought we might work on fine control tonight.” He gestured to the platform, where single branches lay side by side.
“A question first, if I may, sir.” Kip clasped his paws together.
“You may have Splint see to those burns.” Odden raised an eyebrow. “Still no luck?”
Kip shook his head. “But my question is about how to bring heat to the basement. Are there any heat spells? Perhaps one that is not so draining as fire?”
Odden shook his head slowly. “Fire brings heat, and heat is tied to fire.”
“I know, sir. I was thinking perhaps about opening a doorway to a fireplace that would allow heat to come through.”
Penny poked her head up. “Oi, you should just call a skipper.”
“A what?” Kip grinned; the lizard looked like she might overbalance the brazier.
“A skipper. Like me.”
Odden waved a hand. “Summoning an elemental is too advanced. It requires a sense of the home of the elementals, a summoning ritual, and a binding spell.”
“Can’t I just cast a binding on a magical fire? Like whatever happened that time in the Great Hall?”
Again the sorcerer shook his head, but more slowly, as he did whenever Kip brought up the Great Hall fire. “The binding holds the spell, but you must still feed the fire with your will. When an elemental is bound, it supplies the will, and the binding is much easier to hold.”
Kip nodded. “Can you teach me the summoning and binding spells?”
The sorcerer examined him for several seconds, then shrugged. “You have two and a half weeks to Selection. If you wish to spend them on summoning rituals, I will not prevent you. But neither will I waste my own time. I will give you the spells, and you may practice them under Windsor’s eye or, as I would recommend, out of doors.”
“Aye,” Kip said. “I’d not wish to set one of these ‘skippers’ free in our room full of paper.”
Later, he would wonder whether the door to Odden’s office had been open a crack, but as he returned to the basement that night, his mind was full of spells to learn and faint hope. Master Windsor impressed upon him that under no circumstances was he to attempt to summon an elemental without a Master present, and instructed Coppy and Emily to physically hold his muzzle shut should he go into the sort of trance that had led to the Great Hall fire.
“No fear,” Kip said, and the others agreed.
He spent the remainder of the night reading the spells and memorizing them, and when the lights were turned out, he lay in bed and recited as much as he could remember in his mind. How would he find a scent to associate with summoning? Would the tingle of magic be enough, or would he need to hold the rich phosphorus scent of an elemental? What about the binding? The problem so held his attention that he did not hear the creak of the door, not until Coppy sat up and said, “What was that?”
“What was—?” Kip’s concentration broke as a bright flare appeared at the doorway. He only caught a glimpse of it through the shelves, and then it fell out of sight, but not for long. Footsteps hurried up the stairs, and firelight flickered off the walls, growing brighter quickly. A moment later, the smell of burning tickled his nose.
“Fire!” Coppy scrambled from his bed, and Kip hurried to follow.
What had begun as probably a single match was now a fireplace-sized fire. The dry paper burned quick as tinder, and the flames did not finish consuming one before reaching for the next. Kip and Coppy stared across a sea of fuel at the flames, and then almost without thinking, Kip reached out into the fire. Hello, heat, hello hunger, he said, and when he closed his eyes, he saw the fire even more clearly. Its raw power snapped at him, beckoned him to join. For a moment he reveled in the connection, and then realized he had to put the fire out. How? Was it as simple as turning off a spell?
No, he found. Emily cried out behind him, and he heard Coppy hold her back. More desperate, he started to reach for magic, and as its power gathered in him, he felt more confident, stronger, and his connection with the fire grew firm. He felt as though he could talk to it and it would understand.
Not here, not now, he told it, and drew the fire back from the paper, back from the air, understanding its hunger and taking it into himself. It burned in him and then he set it free.
The room grew colder and darker, though the smell of smoke lingered. “Strewth,” Coppy breathed.
“What happened?” Emily asked behind them. “Who put the fire out?”
“Kip did. I think?”
Kip nodded. “Master Odden has been teaching me to understand fire. I simply told it…to go away.”
“Fantastic,” Emily said. “I should think Odden would Select you right away if you can show him that. But how did it start?”
“Three guesses,” Coppy said. “Kip, want to sniff around to be sure?”
They both went to the stair, where even Emily was able to smell Farley’s odor. To Kip it hung in the air like a miasma. “Ten to one he doesn’t even get punished for it,” Kip said grimly.
“Oh, he’ll pay,” Emily said. “Have no fear of that.”
And the next day at lunch, every piece of food Farley put on his plate vanished to reappear in front of Emily. It took him half the lunch to figure out what was happening, and when he did he glared at them across the tent and tried to levitate the food back to him, only to be stopped by Coppy. Farley swore at them and crammed bread and cheese from his neighbours’ plates into his mouth without stopping to put them on his plate, and Emily did not feel sure enough in her control of the spell to translocate material from within his fingers. Even so, his friends hurriedly finished their food and Farley had substantially less for lunch than he normally would.
“I’ll do you for that,” he said as they left.
“Think twice before you play with fire,” Emily responded coolly. “You’re lucky I didn’t let Kip return the favor.”
“More than one way to make a fire.” Farley grinned sourly and stomped away.
Adamson came up behind them, trailing Farley. Kip expected another lecture on the feud, but Victor remained silent while Malcolm said, “I tell you, y’ought to set him ablaze. Sure, there’d be the smell to deal with, but it’d be worth it and then some. After all, he did try to murder you.”
“He says he only meant to smoke you out, that there would be no real danger,” Adamson spoke up then.
“He lit the fire in front of the doorway,” Emily said. “And stop apologizing for him, unless you had something to do with it.”
“I do admire your restraint,” Adamson said to Kip. “Especially with as far as you’ve progressed in the study of fire in such a short time. Surely control is no longer a worry.”
“Only where Farley’s concerned.” Kip deliberately walked slowly so Farley would be in the Great Hall before they rounded the corner of the Tower, and he wouldn’t have to look at him. “There’s so much history there.”
“Indeed.” Adamson stared ahead. “Congratulations on your progress, by the way. I would still like to hear more about it, when you have the time.”
“Perhaps after Selection,” Kip said.
“I would prefer before, but you may have good reason to be confident.” Adamson raised a hand. “And well done to you, too, Miss Carswell.”
“I know it was,” she replied. “I don’t need you to tell me.”
He raised an eyebrow, and then quickened his pace, walking hurriedly ahea
d of them. All four of them slowed by mutual consent, letting Adamson step into the Great Hall and out of earshot before affirming that they did not like him much. Only Kip kept silent. He couldn’t argue with the others, but he felt there was more to Adamson than they were seeing.
13
Flowers
The following Saturday, Kip paid a visit to the Cartwrights. He had sent a message and received a formally polite reply, which might as well have plainly stated, We broke the engagement, we at least owe you this. Dressed in his best clothes, wearing nothing that would remind them that he was studying sorcery, he knocked promptly at noon.
Laurel Cartwright opened the door and looked past him. “You’ve not brought your family?”
“No,” Kip said. “I’m here on my own behalf. I don’t need my father or mother to speak for me.”
“Of course.” Her ears dipped and she brought her muzzle forward to exchange sniffs with Kip. “Please come in.”
“The house smells lovely.” Kip followed her inside and let the door close behind him. The smells of the soup she’d made for lunch and of the bread fresh from the oven wafted over him.
In the small dining room, Thomas Cartwright and Alice rose from the table. As was polite, Kip waited for Mr. Cartwright to broach the reason for his visit, but the older fox simply said, “Let’s eat.”
When enough compliments had been lavished upon Mrs. Cartwright’s chicken and dumpling soup and nothing was left of the bread but crumbs, the smiling mother took her daughter into the other room and left Thomas and Kip alone in the dining room. Kip took a breath and waited for the older fox to speak.
“Well,” Thomas said after a moment. “Shall I list the reasons for our desire to break the engagement, or are they understood?”
“I thought there was but one.” Kip set his arms on the table and leaned forward.
Thomas inclined his head. “At the core of it, I suppose that is true.”