by Toby Forward
Pellion shook hands with them both and cried. Vella hugged Cabbage and didn’t cry.
“We’ll see you again,” she said.
Flaxfield took his arm.
“We’ll be on our way now,” he told them.
Cabbage looked back one last time before the village disappeared behind them on the road.
“Where are we going?” he asked. “What are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell you as we walk,” said Flaxfield.
Flaxfold and Pellion and Vella stood side by side and watched them disappear. Flaxfold watched Cabbage turn around for one last look and she sighed.
“It’s hard for him, saying goodbye,” she said.
“He’s too young to go,” said Vella.
“What do you think?” Flaxfold asked Pellion.
Bee’s father thought hard about it.
“When there’s something to be done, it doesn’t matter how hard it is or how young you are, it has to be done,” he said. “I think he has to do this.”
Leathort walked past and raised a hand to them, seeing them in the doorway.
“Finished early?” said Flaxfold.
Leathort grimaced. He was still recovering from the attack of the wild magic. Half a day in the field was as much as he could manage.
“And what do you have to do?” Flaxfold asked after a silence.
Vella answered as quickly as she could, before Pellion could say anything.
“We have to look after Bee.”
Flaxfold looked at Pellion.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“How will you do that?” asked Flaxfold.
Vella burst into speech with an angry flick of her arm.
“I know what you mean,” she said. “You mean we’re useless. You mean that we can’t do anything.”
Flaxfold waited for her to finish.
“You’ve seen what she’s like,” said Bee’s mother. “She just lies there, doing nothing. She doesn’t even know who we are. She doesn’t know we’re there.”
Pellion gave Flaxfold an apologetic look.
“Don’t think we’re not grateful,” he said.
“We’re not,” snapped Vella. “Why should we be grateful? What’s there to be grateful about? Wizards! Look what they’ve done to our little girl. Look at her.”
Flaxfold tried to put her arm out to Vella but the woman smacked her away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I’ll be upstairs with Bee,” said Flaxfold. “Come and see her if you want to.”
She was glad to be in the green calm of Bee’s room. She sat by the bed, dabbing a cool wet cloth on her cheeks and forehead.
“Is that good?” she asked.
Bee had made no response at all since the day she had vomited the slime of the wild magic out of her. That didn’t stop Flaxfold from talking to her whenever she was in the room with her.
“I’ve made some fresh broth,” she said, “as soon as you want to eat.”
She felt Bee’s parent’s arrive in the doorway.
“When you start to eat you’ll start to get stronger,” she said. “Look, here’s your mother. Would you like her to do this?”
She stood and handed the damp cloth to Vella, who sat and took over from her.
“We’re leaving now,” said Vella. She dabbed Bee’s face then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “But if you ever want us to come back, just send word and we’ll be here. As soon as you ask.”
Flaxfold put her hand on Vella’s shoulder and the woman allowed it to rest there.
“It was magic that did this to you,” said Vella, “and it’s only magic that can make it right again.” She hesitated. “If anything can,” she added.
“Can it?” asked Pellion.
“Perhaps it can change things,” said Flaxfold.
Flaxfold left them alone and waited downstairs.
They all cried when they said goodbye. At the last moment Vella seemed to change her mind and want to stay.
“Why am I leaving her?” she asked.
“Because she was born for magic,” said Flaxfold, “and that’s how it has to be.”
“Well I pity any mother who has a child born for that,” said Pellion.
“And I pity the child,” added Vella.
Flaxfold didn’t watch them walk away. She went back to Bee’s room and put the cloth back to her cheek.
“Did you say there was broth?” asked Bee.
“Yes. I’ll get some, shall I?”
“Yes, please.”
“It’s good to see you,” said Flaxfold.
Bee’s face, hard to read through the damage, showed fear and disgust.
“Something was in me,” she said. “It made me sick.”
“It’s gone now,” said Flaxfold. “Gone.”
“Where to?”
The Palace of Boolat rose up above the plains and forest. The days of wars were past and in these days the gates of the Palace were open. Built to dominate and attract, it had an arrogant beauty that drew the eye for more miles than could be counted. Unprotected, open to all, welcoming though still a challenge.
Mattie stood far off and looked at it. He could have been inside days ago. Did he want to? Could he go anywhere else? The trade guilds who trained boys for commerce and gave them skills did not take ragged boys off the street. Villagers were suspicious of outsiders. Farms were family concerns. He could work. In his recovered body he could work harder than ever before. There was just no work for him except kitchen work back at Boolat. And he didn’t want that.
“I’ll go back to her,” he decided. “I don’t care if she said I wouldn’t be welcome. I’ll make myself welcome.”
A kitchen boy doesn’t see many friendly faces. Most touches of a human hand are cuffs and blows. The little kindness Bee had shown him was the most he could remember. He wanted to see her again. She could be his friend.
Pleased to have made a decision he decided he had earned a rest. He lay on his front, with his head propped on his arms and looked for a last time at the Palace.
All their fine clothes and rich food. All their dances and music and servants and perfumes and paintings. They could keep them. They hadn’t cared for him. Why should he care for them? Come to think of it, didn’t they owe him something? They’d thrown him out when he needed help. And they’d never paid him so much as a penny the whole time he’d worked there.
“Just a new suit of clothes,” he said. “That’s all. I deserve that at least.”
There’s not much a servant doesn’t know about the passageways and hidden corridors of the house where he works. Especially a young servant. More especially one who has grown up there. As soon as night fell Mattie would creep in, find a good new set of clothes, sleep in a proper bed – there were many more rooms than people at Boolat. In the morning, just before light, he’d be ready to present himself at the wizard’s yard for work.
It had no way of knowing what to do or where it was. The green slime hadn’t really known what it was until Bee vomited it out. It was lucky for Bee that she didn’t know that for over a day it had tried to get back into the inn to crawl inside her again. As far as it could be said to have feelings, it had two. First, it wanted to be safe inside Bee again, keeping her from waking up. Second, it wanted to kill that old woman who had thrown it out. Between the longing and the fear it had little time for anything else. Something the old woman had done kept it out of the inn.
It could move, but it didn’t want to.
Feelings aren’t thoughts. It felt angry. It felt lonely. It felt confused. It felt hungry. So when a slug slithered over it the green mess was glad enough to wrap itself round the grey body and absorb it. Then it felt pleasure. So it moved just enough to find another slug and another. This made it look quite like a slug.
Expelled from the inn and refused entrance again, it turned towards a direction the way a compass needle turns to the north and it started to travel. Slow progress for something that looks like a slug, yet all move
ment with a purpose cuts down distance. A mouse ran into it and was stuck fast to the sticky skin. It folded itself round the mouse and, because it had a slug’s mouth now, it ate it, legs first, the mouse squeaking until it died. It moved on, ever in the same direction.
More mice. It grew fur and teeth. And it grew bigger. Now it could eat a rat. Now a weasel. Now a rabbit. The weasel bit back, but the slime thing didn’t feel pain.
As it consumed animals with brains it began to have a brain itself. It couldn’t exactly think. It had more than feelings, though.
Swifter movement came with legs, and more purpose came with a brain. Now it was definitely seeking something, somewhere, someone.
The change was frighteningly swift, from shapeless slime to a nightmare mixture of slug and weasel, rat and snake. It was soon big enough to eat a dog that was tied to a post while its owner went to work. It had added pleasure to its repertoire of feelings and it really enjoyed tearing at the dog’s throat and ripping it open. Dogs are clever creatures, so that became part of its nature, too.
Now it could run. Now it could hunt. It tracked a shepherd boy, cornered him and lunged. And gorged.
Standing up on two legs it looked across the hills.
“Boolat,” it said.
It shook its head, having no idea what it had said or why or what it meant. It recognized that the Palace of Boolat was the compulsion that had been drawing it, so it walked, unsteadily at first on the two legs, then with confidence, straight towards the towers. It still left damp green patches where it walked. It still made the slurping, slopping noise. Just not so much. |
Though Cabbage was in a sulk,
it didn’t take the form of refusing to eat, and there were plenty of places to eat at Canterstock.
“We could eat for free at the College,” said Flaxfield.
“Is the food good?” asked Cabbage.
“It’s a long time since I visited,” Flaxfield admitted.
“We’ll eat before we go in then,” said Cabbage. “Best to be safe.”
It was the longest conversation they had spoken together since they left the village and the inn. Flaxfield had tried to talk but Cabbage turned the attempts away. As soon as Flaxfield had told him where they were going Cabbage refused to discuss it.
Canterstock was by far the biggest town that Cabbage had ever seen. He’d been with Flaxfield to markets and fairs. He’d seen villages and small towns, and he liked the activity of the streets, the noises and smells, the shops and stalls, the faces and the clothes. Most of all, he liked the food stalls and the pie shops, the crumpet sellers and the hogs roasting in pits.
It wasn’t market day in Canterstock; there were no food stalls, no hog roasts. It didn’t take Cabbage long to find the shops and little ale-houses that had the aroma of freshly-cooked food drifting out into the street. Some of them had blackboards outside with the menus chalked on them. Cabbage read them as though they were the most precious and powerful books of spells.
“If you’d studied your work as hard as you study those you’d be the greatest wizard the world has ever seen,” said Flaxfield. “I’d rather eat food than read about it.”
Cabbage thought the best looking place with the finest food was one on the market square, right across from the college. He walked away from it, determined not to have his meal spoiled by the sight of the great building. They looked at more places and Cabbage sighed.
“We’ll go back,” he said.
“To the Goat and Cushion?” Flaxfield made a mock-surprised face.
“I’ll sit with my back to the college,” said Cabbage.
“Then you won’t see what’s going on. That’s half the pleasure of a town.”
The food was as good as Cabbage had hoped. The view was as bad as he had feared.
Canterstock College was the largest building in a large town. Honey-coloured stone, high turrets, tall windows, some as wide as rooms, some just slits. The gate was as wide as most of the houses in the town. Cabbage watched several people come and go and the great gates were never opened. The visitors, or students, or whatever they were, used a wicket gate.
Flaxfield ate sparingly. A bowl of soup, bread, a glass of water. He watched Cabbage eat a huge meal and then drank some more water while the boy set about a big bowl of pudding.
When it was all gone Cabbage leaned back and put his hands on the table.
“You’re going to leave me there, aren’t you?” he said.
“Is that what this sulk is about?”
“I know you are.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re not a wizard any more. You’ve got no magic.”
Flaxfield hitched up his cloak.
“If you’ve got no magic you can’t have an apprentice. And if I can’t be your apprentice you’ll have to do something else for me.”
“Shall I?” said Flaxfield. His voice reminded Cabbage of how Flaxfield had once treated him. He was a good master, and he didn’t treat his apprentices harshly, but he did expect good manners and respect and obedience. And he got them. Cabbage’s victory over the fire and his discovery of Bee had made him feel that he was important. His discovery that Flaxfield had lost his magic had made him feel that his old master was just an ordinary man, and that an apprentice wizard was somehow more important. Flaxfield had been patient on the journey, and Cabbage had grown even more confident. The sudden change in Flaxfield’s tone of voice made him think again.
“Well,” he said, “that’s right, isn’t it?”
“Which part of the story you’ve made up are you asking me about? Leaving you at the college? That all my magic has gone? That a wizard with no magic is no wizard? That I have to do something for you? Have I forgotten anything?”
“Well, said Cabbage again. “I mean you have to make arrangements, don’t you? To let me finish learning to be a wizard?”
“I don’t see why,” said Flaxfield. “I could walk off and leave you here. I’d pay for my soup and you could pay for that banquet you’ve just eaten. How about that?”
“I’ve got no money.”
“No. You haven’t, have you? But you could work it off. And if they liked you enough,” he stared at him. “If they thought you were a very keen and hard-working sort of boy, though why they’d think that is beyond me, but if they did, they could keep you on in the kitchen as a pot boy.”
“You wouldn’t do that?”
“Or, as is more likely, if they thought you were a lazy sort of rogue, they could tip you out and let you fend for yourself.”
“No. You wouldn’t.”
“Or, if I felt like it, I could take this staff from you and give you the sound beating that a sulky young dog who cheeks his master deserves, and then I could carry on looking after you. Which would you prefer, the kitchen work, or the beating?”
“Don’t leave me here,” said Cabbage. “Please.”
“So you want the beating? To teach you a lesson?”
Cabbage sat in silence for a moment, then he nodded.
“Come on,” said Flaxfield, in his usual voice. “I’ve never beaten an apprentice yet. I’m not going to start now.”
Cabbage looked up.
The old wizard was smiling at him. “But you’ve given me a bit of a beating, young Cabbage. Not talking to me. Treating me like something you’d worn out.”
Cabbage dragged his sleeve across his face.
“I thought you were going to leave me at the college.”
“Did I say I was?”
“Why else would we come here?”
“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I’m sorry.”
Flaxfield pointed across the square.
“What do you think of it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve been looking at it all through your meal. You couldn’t take your eyes away from it.”
Cabbage shrugged at being found out.
“It’s bigger than I thought,” h
e said. “And I think it’s lovely. Like a palace.”
“Better than a palace,” said Flaxfield. “It’s a serious place, on serious earth. It has a purpose that palaces do not.”
“Why have we come here?”
“To ask a question.”
“Let’s go and ask it then,” said Cabbage. “If that’s all right with you.”
Flaxfield put his arm around Cabbage’s shoulder. He left enough money on the table for the meal and they set off across the square.
The sun washed the stone of the college and for a moment Cabbage thought it might burst into flame from wild magic. The moment passed. There was no fizzle or crackle of the magic that swirled around them, and the yellow-cream walls of the college were alight with pleasure. Cabbage couldn’t wait to get inside.
Flaxfield rapped on the gate with his staff. The small wicket gate swung open and he stepped through, indicating to Cabbage to follow.
“This is a bit of a step,” complained Cabbage as he lifted his leg to climb in. “Why don’t they open the…?”
Something about the space inside the gate made him stop talking.
There was a silence he couldn’t ignore and it silenced him. It pleased him to stand in silence there. He felt that something recognized him as he walked in, and that he recognized something in return, though he didn’t know what.
He didn’t feel at home. And he didn’t feel a stranger.
“Who’ve you brought today then?”
Cabbage frowned at the breaking of the silence. To his right, just inside the gate, there was a small room set into the thick stones of the wall. A man leaned out of a hatch and stared at Cabbage.
“Introduce yourself,” said Flaxfield.
“Good afternoon,” said Cabbage, remembering words he’d been taught to use and had never really found he needed before.
The man laughed. He looked as though he laughed a lot so Cabbage didn’t mind as much as he thought he should.
“He’s better mannered than your usual lot,” said the man. He drew back from the hatch and stepped out through the door and stood with his hand out to be shaken. Cabbage took it and found that although the man was about average height, smaller than Flaxfield, he had giant’s hands. Not just big. They really didn’t belong to him at all. Twice the size of a normal hand.