The War and the Fox

by Tim Susman

  Both Alice and Emily stood silent, the latter’s face in shadow, the former’s eyes glowing with reflected light. “Besides,” Kip said, “I won’t undertake any mission involving the Isle without getting their consent. And without that, there’s no point in asking.”

  “All right,” Alice said. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Of course I’ll take you,” Emily said. “But how will you get back?”

  “If I’m sending us home, where I don’t have to worry about what’s waiting for us, I can send us one at a time. I don’t know what we’ll encounter at the Isle and we might need to come back immediately.” Kip turned to the vixen. “Does your family have plain clothes at your house?”

  Alice nodded. “All right,” he said. “There first, then London.” He turned to the sky. “It’ll be much later there. I’d like to get in before the sun’s up.”

  They achieved that goal, though only by an hour or so. Emily had never been to the Isle, and the College itself was warded, but she had been to several other locations in London and one of them proved to work, a public square littered with bird and horse droppings and fouler smells, but empty of people at this time of night—morning, Kip supposed.

  “We can make our way from here,” he said softly to Emily. “Thank you.”

  “You can get past the wards?”

  “People have to go in and out,” he said. “Calatians go out to do work. We’ll find a way.”

  “I’ll come with you as far as the Isle.” Emily yawned. “I suppose I can sleep when I get back to Abigail’s.”

  She’d taken a hooded cloak from New Cambridge and now pulled the hood over her head as she followed the two Calatians. They kept to the shadows as best they could, especially when other people passed them in the street. At this hour, most people seemed alert for trouble of their own, and two Calatians with a third hooded figure were not the kind of trouble they were looking for, so the trio made their way unmolested. “Kip,” Alice whispered at one point, “what did you mean when you said, ‘keeping the Calatians safe for the American Army’?”

  “Shh,” he said automatically, though she’d spoken low and this narrow street was deserted. He was looking forward to seeing Abel again, and it took him a moment to parse her question and respond to it. “Only that Jackson’s concern for us was because of calyxes. He treats calyxes like guns, or ammunition, I suppose. Not like people.” A soft snort from behind him signaled Emily’s agreement.

  “He doesn’t seem to treat people all that well either,” Alice said. “So what do we do?”

  “Now that I understand him, I can propose a strategy that he’ll agree to. That’s the way to get in with these people. You have to understand them and then figure out how to make the thing you want attractive to them.”

  “So we have to make him want to save the Calatians. How?” Alice asked.

  “We’ll steal some ammunition,” Kip said.

  They rounded a corner into a narrow alley, at the end of which they could see the bridge. Of plain stone construction, it had only knee-high blocks of stone to keep people from falling into the Thames. Upon each of the two stones nearest to Kip and Alice, a British soldier sat cradling his rifle.

  Alice’s nostrils flared, taking in the rank smell of the soldiers and the waste floating in the Thames River around the Isle. “We could go through the water.” She held her paws around her head. “I could summon another air elemental.”

  “That might work.” Kip looked out at the growing light in the sky over the crude cottages on the isle, a few of which now had smoke trickling from their chimneys. “If we slipped in upriver and swam down, we could surface in the shadow of the bridge there,” he pointed, “behind the soldiers. If we’re quiet, then with any luck we’ll be in the Isle. Then we can find Abel.”

  “I don’t think that would be so hard for you.”

  Kip shook his head. “The hard part will be talking him and the others into a plan.”

  “You have a plan?”

  He grimaced. “No. But let’s get in first.”

  Emily put a hand on Kip’s shoulder. “And this is where I leave you,” she said. “I’ll wait here for a few minutes, but I draw the line at swimming in filth. Wave from the water if you need me.”

  “I hope we won’t.” Kip clasped her hand. “Thank you for all your help. Good luck on your next mission.”

  They made their way away from the smell of the Thames, through dark alleys, until Kip judged that they were far enough upriver to steal down to the bank. “What if the Isle is warded and the elemental can’t move with us?” Alice asked.

  “We’ll surface quickly.” He took her paw. “I’m not worried.”

  The neighborhood they stopped in smelled strongly of furnaces and forges, and now activity stirred near them, the clink of coal and the hiss of bellows, the dragging of heavy sacks back and forth. Kip and Alice hurried to the riverbank and down a muddy slope to the water.

  “It’s cold,” she complained as she put her feet in it.

  “It’ll keep us awake.” Kip looked around. Two boats floated nearby, only one moving, and while there were people around them, none watched that he could tell. He stood between Alice and the shore. “Face me,” he said, “and keep your paws close between us as you cast the spell.” It wasn’t out of the question that someone on one of the boats or on the shore might know what colorful glows around the arms of a shadowy figure meant.

  Alice breathed the words of the spell and the glow faded. A moment later, Kip heard the whispers of almost-words around his ears and the air acquired a different scent, cleaner and warmer than the refuse-tainted air on the Thames. Alice said a few words Kip didn’t understand and then said, “All right, we can go in.”

  Water soaked his clothes as he waded into the river. “Are you sure?” he said, and Alice, by way of response, ducked her head underwater. So Kip followed suit, diving into the river, and found that the chilly, foul-smelling water kept its distance from him as it had in Savannah that morning. The Thames was considerably colder, and where the river mouth in Savannah had been murky and silty, this dark water held all the detritus of London: twisted bits of metal, some small and wiry enough to float; rags and bones and, half-poking out of a rotted burlap sack, the corpse of a dog.

  The trick was to keep as close to the shore as they could while staying underwater so they wouldn’t be spotted. They couldn’t see far enough ahead to navigate properly, and it wasn’t like in Savannah where it didn’t matter where on the opposite bank they landed. If they missed the Isle, they would go on down the river into the English Channel and eventually they would hit Amsterdam, where at least, he supposed, Emily would be able to send them back.

  A large shape loomed ahead of them; Kip tugged Alice to the left, toward the shore, as the current tried to carry them into the open water. They bumped up against old stone and felt their way along until they came to the small channel that ran between the Isle and the river bank. Here the current ran faster, so Kip held onto a jutting rock and cast a quick spell to lift himself and Alice from the water.

  Keeping his back to the Isle, he strained to hold them steady in the current as they rose. When their heads broke the surface, he stopped and looked about. The sky had lightened considerably, and people moved about on the bank, but none of them looked toward the Isle, and the soldiers continued to stare outward at the city. Kip moved the two of them into the shadow of the bridge and then said, “I’m going to move us quickly into the gates. Ready?”

  Alice nodded. He pushed on the spell; the two foxes rose dripping from the water, cleared the side of the bridge, and slid through the gates and along until they were concealed by the stone walls that flanked the gate.

  Kip collapsed to the ground and dismissed the spell. The effort of swimming had drained him more than he’d thought. Pushing against fatigue, he managed to struggle to his feet.

  Alice tugged on his wet sleeve. To their right, an otter stared at the two of them. “Strewth,” he said in
a voice that reminded Kip of Coppy.

  “Good morning,” Kip said. “I wonder if you could take us to Abel.”

  “Abel?”

  “The fox?”

  “Aye, aye.” The otter scratched his head. “Ah, is he, are you expected?”

  Kip smiled thinly. “I greatly doubt it.”

  The otter looked back at the street he’d come down, then took one uncertain step toward them. “Aye, I—yes, he’s down this way.”

  Alice and Kip followed the otter to Abel’s small wooden cottage where the fox lived with his two cubs. They knocked on the door, and when Abel opened it, the otter interposed himself between Kip and the other fox. “These foxes, Abel, they floated right in on magic and then asked to see you. Is it all right, that?”

  Seeing his friend brought a rush of relief to Kip, and Abel’s muzzle too broke into a broad smile. “It’s more than all right, Belzer. Kip, come in, and Alice too? Let’s get you out of those wet things. I’ll get a fire going.”

  11

  The Isle of Dogs

  Abel gave them a blanket to cover themselves while their clothes dried over the fire. The warmth so relaxed Kip that he found himself dozing off in the middle of trying to explain to Abel what had happened that day. Alice had already fallen asleep slumped against Kip, so Abel told them to sleep as long as they needed.

  Kip awoke to the smell of beans frying in lard, and his stomach clenched. When was the last time he’d eaten? The bread and cheese while listening to Emily’s story?

  “Good morning,” Abel said cheerfully, holding a long-handled skillet over his fire. “I decided that as long as we were using our firewood, we should cook something.”

  “Is there enough for all of us?” Kip glanced toward Alice, still asleep but now curled up on the floor.

  “I should hope so. I’m cooking for the whole street. This is my third batch. Aran and Arabella are taking some around to the others.” He gestured to a small stack of wooden bowls. “Take one and please, take as much as you like.”

  Kip stifled a yawn and stood, keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Mindful that he was eating from a communal meal, he took about half of what his stomach wanted, but he knew that it would suffice and that he would be back at the Trade House for a proper meal soon enough. The thought made him fold his ears back with guilt. “I wish I’d thought to bring you food. Are they starving you?”

  “No more than usual. And bringing yourself is a pleasant enough treat, as is your lovely fiancée. I suspect you bear news of a more serious nature, however.”

  Kip nodded. The beans, piping hot, warmed his stomach. His fur remained damp from the river and probably smellier than he thought with his nose growing accustomed to the odor, but at least he was no longer sopping wet. “Are you kept prisoner here?” he asked.

  Abel inclined his head. “That rather depends on your definition of the word. We are not forbidden to leave. At the same time, when we do leave, the soldiers at the gate bombard us with questions. Where are we going? For how long? Is our errand of vital importance? We are given wooden tokens and must surrender them or risk being shut out of our home. That is enough to keep most of us here unless we have important business outside. And of course, when the sorcerers come to use us, they take us through the air. We can still load the rope and other goods we make onto barges, but now they come directly to the Isle rather than one of the docks.”

  “They’re so worried that you might flee?”

  “During the Napoleonic war, French sorcerers twice tried to steal Calatians from the Isle, at least once with the help of some of the people here.” His gaze drifted beyond Kip for a moment. “Neither attempt succeeded—obviously—but they have not been forgotten.”

  Kip wanted to wait until Alice awoke, so rather than launch into his idea, he scraped another spoonful of beans from the bowl. “These are delicious.”

  “That tells me that you’ve not eaten much today.” Aran and Arabella came back at that moment with several bowls. Kip finished his beans while Abel portioned out what was left.

  When the cubs had run off with their full bowls, Abel sat cross-legged next to Kip in front of the fire and folded his paws together in his lap. “Tell me,” he said.

  So Kip told him about Savannah, the battle and his capture, and the British attacks on Peachtree and New Cambridge. He left out any sensitive information about American army movements, saying only that his commanding officer thought the British were trying to deprive the Americans of calyxes.

  By the time he’d finished, Alice had woken and Abel had given her a bowl of beans. She devoured them as Kip concluded the story of New Cambridge.

  The other fox nodded and put a paw to his chin. “They have learned that from the war with the French, perhaps. And you have come here hoping to succeed where the French failed.”

  “But with your full knowledge and consent,” Kip said.

  “Of course.” Abel rubbed the tips of his fingers together, and the stump of his tail wiggled. “The war has already been hard on us. Edward Pole fainted upon his return two days ago and has not risen from his bed since, and he is the second to suffer that fate. More are sure to follow, wounded if not killed. If we could escape… How do you propose to do this?”

  “I thought that perhaps we could bring sorcerers and translocate you?”

  Abel nodded. “That was the French plan. We are so close to the College that magical activity is more easily spotted here, and I believe there are magical protections.”

  Kip considered that. “Do you think you could get a large group away from the Isle?”

  “Perhaps. There is one barge captain who is more sympathetic to us than most. He could be persuaded with coin, and many of us could hide in his hold from here to the countryside above London. The calyxes, at least.”

  “How many is that?”

  “Sixty. Plus another hundred, with their families, for they should not be made to go alone. However…” Abel held up a finger. “We have not the coin here to bribe the captain. That, and an assurance from the Americans that we will not be prisoners, would have to come before we could make a move.”

  “If we can procure those,” Alice asked, “do you think you can convince the calyxes to come?”

  Abel favored her with a smile. “For my part, the reasoning is easy, but what am I to tell them? What have the Americans to offer that is worth leaving our home? Keep in mind that if this venture succeeds, we may be forever barred from returning. And if it fails…” He smiled tightly, without humor. “There will be punishment.”

  “Land,” Kip said. “You’ve visited me in New Cambridge. You’ve seen what is possible for Calatians in the New World. There is room for all, and the Americans have promised to treat Calatians better than the British do here.”

  “It’s true,” Alice put in. “And to prove it, the Americans are here asking for your help while the British merely captured our friends and families.”

  “And…” Kip took a breath. “We Calatians will be taking action to determine our own destiny.”

  The other fox inclined his head. “I have one last question, then. There are over a thousand Calatians here on the Isle, nearly fifteen hundred. Taking a hundred of them—knowing as you do the role of calyxes—what is to prevent the sorcerers of the College from selecting other calyxes from those left behind? Here on the Isle, the role of the calyx is no great secret, save from the cubs.”

  “Or,” Alice said, “couldn’t they just…take Calatians and use them up?”

  The Calatian blood used by sorcerers could come from anyone, of course. The British seemed bent on capturing only the towns of Calatians that included calyxes, but of course they had also captured the Calatians in Savannah. As far as Kip knew, though, the two other largest neighborhoods, in New York and Boston, remained in American hands. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “They could just drain us of blood,” Abel said, “but thus far they have only done so accidentally. The Church has designated
us as people, and therefore the sorcerers have shown us some courtesy—the bare minimum, but some.”

  “But if some of you escape?”

  “I think all of us would have to escape before they would be pushed to breach that courtesy.”

  Kip rubbed his whiskers. “I know that taking a hundred Calatians would not cripple the British sorcerers, but it would at least inconvenience them. Besides which, the blow of having their calyxes stolen out from under their noses would hurt their pride and confidence, I hope. It did us, when they took Peachtree, and when they attacked New Cambridge. And last, we hope that you may be able to tell us something about their practices that could be useful to us.”

  “Strike them as they struck you.” Abel nodded. “I can make that argument. Only those who are discontent need come along.”

  “The Isle is too crowded anyway,” Kip said, trying to keep his tail from wagging with relief that Abel approved of his plan. This fox, after all, knew the British calyxes better than Kip ever could, and if he thought the idea was flawed then there would be no point in Kip bringing it to Colonel Jackson. “How are the others? Pierce and the Cotton brothers and the dormouse?”

  “We all continue on in whatever way we can.” Abel paused. “And Grinda, too.”

  Alice’s ears perked up. “She’s the wolf?” she asked Kip.

  He nodded. “She distrusts sorcerers more than she trusts Calatians.”

  “Not without reason,” Abel said mildly. “There have been many Calatians who threw their lot in with the sorcerers. One of the French plots was foiled by a fellow Calatian, in fact. This is why our little group comprises only a half-dozen and not all sixty calyxes. I can not even promise you that most will go, although they are more discontented now than a year ago.”

  “If all of you do not come,” Kip said grimly, “it will go harder for those who remain.”

  Abel nodded. “That may be enough to convince them—or to stop the entire enterprise. I will do the best I can, because I believe we will be better off if it succeeds, and I trust you to see it through.”