by Deva Fagan
I stared at her. Surely she was joking about the mice. Surely.
“But I’m confident you’ll find a solution more quickly than that,” Betrys went on. “You’re a skilled researcher.”
A bubble of warmth lifted me. Master Betrys had gotten into magical jams as a girl too. It was something we shared. Maybe one day my glow would be a funny story I told my own apprentice.
“But now we really should get back home to Port Meda,” said Betrys, sweeping a stern look over Moppe and me. “We all have work to do.”
5
FIVE DAYS LATER I was no closer to any of the answers I sought. I had tried to use the word from the chasm in a hundred spells, but none of them had worked. I had scoured the house for any clue to the location of the crown and found nothing.
The gala was tomorrow night. If I couldn’t convince Mother I was making progress, she would summon me home. My magical education would be over, and the crown would still be in danger. I’d have gained nothing and lost everything. This was my last chance to find answers.
Which was how I found myself breaking into Master Betrys’s study in the middle of the night.
Surely if there was any useful clue about the crown’s location, it would be in the study. That was where the Furtive had been hunting, after all. And it was where Master Betrys kept her papers, her private journals, and her magical supplies.
I’d snuck into the study a half-dozen times before in order to look up words in the grimoires Master Betrys said were too advanced for me. This time should have been no different. And yet my voice trembled as I cast the unlock spell. I had to say it three times before the great oak door swung open.
Gloomy shadows filled every corner. Fortunately, I still hadn’t managed to reverse the light spell I’d cast in the Cave of Echoes, distracted as I was by everything else. It had made sneaking out of my room something of a trial, but at least I didn’t have to worry about lighting a candle. The familiar golden glow enveloped me as I took a single careful step onto the well-worn carpet.
Betrys’s room looked different than it had during my daytime visit. The bookshelves loomed ominously. A bit of twisted wood perched on the corner of her desk cast an odd shadow across the wall, like some great horned beast, watching me, making me feel small and very, very alone.
Unease twinged in my chest. But Betrys herself had said that she couldn’t give me all the answers. Once I found the crown, she would understand. She’d see that my cleverness and dedication had earned it. And of course Betrys must see how important it was that the crown be taken somewhere safe, where the Liberationists could never get their murderous hands on it.
I glanced uneasily toward the shelf holding the golden cage. It was still covered by the velvet cloth, and no sound came from within. Hopefully the Furtive was sleeping. I crept another two paces into the room, careful to keep to the right side of the carpet as Master Betrys had warned me during my last visit.
As before, the massive desk was covered in scrolls, books, and bits of loose paper. I scanned them quickly, the scrape of unfurling paper loud in the silence. But none of it seemed remotely connected to the crown. I was about to turn away to continue my search when a bit of writing among the papers caught my eye.
My own name.
I jerked back, averting my eyes. I shouldn’t read it. They were Master Betrys’s private papers.
But it was my name. Didn’t I deserve to know what it was about? Before I knew it, I was tugging the page free from the heap of other documents. It looked like the draft of a letter. There was no addressee, only a few lines of painfully sharp script.
It is a difficult decision. Antonia has proven brilliantly adept at theory, and her dedication and memory are exceptional, but even with the very best training, she will never rise above a middling level of potency. Whereas Moppe is an untrained prodigy with seemingly limitless potential. I’ve truly never seen someone so naturally gifted at our art. It rather staggers me, to consider what she might be capable of with dedicated training and attention. But you know my time is limited, and I must make a decision as to
It ended there, midsentence. But I didn’t need to read any more.
Couldn’t read more through the hazy blur of my stinging eyes. I scrubbed a sleeve across my face. I supposed it was a just punishment for sneaking in here, for reading Master Betrys’s private papers. I gulped down to clear the tightness in my throat. The letter said she needed to make a decision. But she hadn’t made it yet. There was still hope.
“Find anything interesting?” asked a voice from behind my shoulder.
I shrieked and jumped away.
I had a single brief glimpse of Moppe’s grinning face, and then I was sinking into the soft pool that had opened under my feet as soon as I crossed to the left side of the carpet. I wriggled and writhed, but was sunk up to my neck. I couldn’t free my arms. The sticky molten carpet held me stiff as tar.
Blast! I knew there was a spell there. Master Betrys herself had warned me. And then I’d panicked and jumped right into it!
Moppe inched a few steps closer, cocking her head to look at me. “Did you mean to do that?”
“What sort of person gets stuck in carpet quicksand on purpose?” I spat back. Then I forced myself to breathe. I could get out of this. I was a wizard, after all. “Antonia. Rise.”
I shifted a single grudging handspan.
The words of Master Betrys’s letter taunted me. She will never rise above a middling level of potency. I tried again, but this time I lifted only an inch. Frustration roared in my chest as I imagined what Betrys would think if she saw me here now. I blinked rapidly, painfully aware of Moppe watching me, arms crossed in judgment.
“Does Master Betrys know you’re snooping around her study in the middle of the night?”
I gritted my teeth. “No! Of course not.” I looked her up and down. She was still wearing her normal smock and sandals, and there was a smudge of what looked like flour on her cheek. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
She lifted her chin. “Cook needed help setting the loaves for tomorrow.”
“But you’re not the under-cook anymore,” I said. “You’re an apprentice now.”
“That doesn’t mean I can give up on my duties. Do you think breakfast just magically appears on the table every morning? That Cook is secretly a wizard who just whips food out of thin air for you?”
“That isn’t what I meant,” I said. “Never mind, just… go wash the flour off your face and leave me alone.”
Moppe scowled, but she didn’t leave. “Why did you sneak in here?” she asked. “Are you looking for the crown?”
“No!”
From the velvet-covered cage on the nearby bookshelf came a chittering laugh. Moppe whirled toward the sound. “What was that?”
“The Furtive,” I told her. “He’s a dangerous magical creature Master Betrys has locked away.”
“Dangerous?” came the high-pitched voice of the enchanted ferret. “Ooh, I rather like that.”
“What does he do?” Moppe asked, pacing closer to the cage. She pulled the cloth free, revealing the sinuous velvety shape within. “He doesn’t look dangerous.”
The Furtive’s pale fur fluffed out in annoyance. “I am the Keeper of Untold Mysteries! I am the Seneschal of Secrets! Tremble before me!”
“Oh yes, so terrifying,” said Moppe, leaning closer, looking more amused than alarmed.
He set his paws against the bars of the cage, whiskers quivering. “And you have such a nice, juicy one. I can almost taste it.”
“Be careful,” I said. “He only has to touch you to steal your secrets.” It seemed only sporting to warn her, even though she could hardly have any secrets all that interesting.
Moppe jerked back the finger she had started to lift toward the cage. She stared at her hand for a long moment, as if checking for burns, eyes wide with alarm. Then she tucked it behind her and refocused her attention on the Furtive. “Secrets, hmm? Like why Antonia’s
rooting around in here?”
“That is no secret,” said the Furtive. “You already know the answer. She seeks the location of the crown crafted by Lyrica Drakesbane for her beloved queen, Meda.”
Moppe turned back to me. “Did you find it?” She looked to the desk, then to the floor. Master Betrys’s letter lay pale against the carpet, where I had dropped it when she startled me.
“No!” I cried as she bent to take it. “That has nothing to do with the crown!”
She huffed scornfully. “Of course you’d say that.”
“I’m telling the truth,” I protested, making one last vain attempt to claw my way out of the sticky pool of carpet. “It’s a private letter. Don’t read it!”
Moppe was already bent over the paper, squinting furiously at the script. Chill despair gripped me. It was bad enough knowing what Betrys thought of my abilities. I couldn’t bear Moppe learning the truth. I didn’t want her laughter and I certainly didn’t need her pity. I braced myself for her reaction.
But it never came. She looked up at me after a moment, still defiant. Demanding. And a tiny bit… nervous?
“My name is in this,” she said hoarsely. “Did she find out?”
Find out what? That Moppe was a prodigy? Was she trying to make me say it aloud? I hadn’t expected her to be that cruel. “You can read it yourself,” I snarled, sagging back into my prison of oozing carpet.
“No,” the Furtive squeaked coyly. “She can’t.”
“What?” I frowned at Moppe. “You can’t read?”
Moppe jerked, as if stung. “I can!” Her fingers tightened on the paper. And for the briefest moment I saw something all too familiar in her eyes. Shame.
“I can,” she said again. “Just… not very long words. Or the ones that aren’t spelled like they sound.”
Which described just about every word in magespeak. I felt a pang of sympathy. Florian always had trouble reading. He once told me the letters jumped around the page, like fleas, and he could never keep them all straight. Mother had to hire a special tutor from the mainland to get him through his basic schooling.
“Does Master Betrys know?” I asked.
Another flash of shame. Maybe even fear. “Don’t tell her!”
“How do you expect to become a Master Wizard if you don’t have any way to learn magespeak?” I said. “Maybe Master Betrys can help you.”
An odd, hopeful expression flitted over Moppe’s face, but it was gone in a heartbeat. Her voice held a bitter edge. “I can’t risk it. This is too important. Please.”
“What’s too important? Finding the crown? Why do you want it?”
Moppe held her chin high. “The same reason as you. Because I care about the future of Medasia.”
“Mmm,” hummed the Furtive, whiskers quivering as he slunk closer to the cage door. “Secrets. Lovely, lovely secrets.”
“Look, do you want to get out of there or not?” Moppe asked.
I sighed. “Fine. I won’t tell her. Just get me out of this. It’s a simple enough spell. Antonia Rise.”
She repeated the spell. I zoomed up from the carpet and smacked into the ceiling. “Ouch! Watch it!”
“Sorry!”
She lowered me until I could reach the corner of the desk. I clambered down onto the blessedly solid floor.
Moppe held up the letter. “You swear this really doesn’t have anything to do with the crown?”
I snatched it out of her hands and placed it back on the desk. “It’s just a letter about us being her apprentices,” I said. “That’s it.”
I glanced at the Furtive. Hopefully I’d spoken close enough to the truth not to tantalize the creature.
“The crown.” He made a long chuckling noise. “Now that is a secret.”
“It’s why you came here in the first place, isn’t it?” I asked, stepping closer to the cage. “The Liberation sent you to find the crown.”
“Did you find it?” Moppe asked urgently. “Where is it?”
The Furtive’s hunched body bowed as he stroked a paw over one stubby ear. “Why should I tell you what I know?”
I hesitated, then drew in a long breath. “What if I give you one of my secrets?”
The Furtive gave a hum of pleasure and anticipation. His bright teeth glinted in the shadows.
Moppe gave me a dubious look. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure this is our best chance to find the crown,” I said.
Besides, it wasn’t as if I had anything so terrible hidden away. What did it matter if the Furtive found out I’d pilfered a raspberry tart from the kitchen last week? My secrets were all boringly mundane.
Moppe’s brows drew together. “Our?”
“Well, since you’re here. And you got me out of the carpet.”
She blinked, looking flummoxed. A flush warmed my cheeks. Honestly, the word had just slipped out. Still, it was… nice to have someone with me right now. To not have to deal with the Furtive alone. I turned back to the enchanted ferret. “So is it a deal?”
“Mmm. Come closer,” said the Furtive.
I hesitated again. “What sort of secret do you want from me?”
“Oh, I’m certain I can find something interesting.” His blue eyes transfixed me, sly and hungry. “Everyone has secrets. Hidden fears. Tasty regrets. Delicious dreams. Or even precious knowledge. You wizards know better than anyone how much power there is in just a single, secret word.”
I gulped, feeling very much like a roast chicken set out on the table for supper. Did I dare trust the creature not to simply snatch his meal and run? “You tell us what you know first.”
The ferret gave a whiffling sigh. “Oh, very well. But you must ask me properly.”
“Properly?”
He preened. “I am the Master of Mysteries, after all. The Hunter of the Hidden. The…” He paused, whiskers crinkling thoughtfully.
“Emperor of Enigmas?” I offered.
“Indeed!” He nodded in satisfaction, rearing onto his back legs, snowy hair puffed out with pride.
I cleared my throat. “All right, Master of Mysteries. I humbly ask that you, er, bestow upon us the secret you so valiantly acquired about the crown’s location. Please.”
“The crown may be found…” His squeaky voice dipped lower. I leaned closer, quivering with anticipation of the coming revelation. Moppe moved to join me, both of us close beside the cage.
“… in a location completely unknown to Master Betrys.”
“What?” Moppe sputtered.
“That’s not helpful. She has to know something!” I gripped the bars of the cage in frustration.
“Oh, well, she does have a clue. And that is”—the Furtive sidled closer, whiskers shivering over my fingers as he pronounced the final words in a low, dramatic squeak—“a secret that will be given only to her most deserving apprentice.”
He sat back on his haunches, showing his sharp teeth in what looked very much like a sly grin.
“That’s not an answer!” I snarled. “Is that really all you know?”
“Of course not,” said the Furtive. “I am the Master of—”
“Oh, stuff it!” snapped Moppe. “You’re a blasted nuisance.”
“And you’re definitely not getting any of my secrets,” I said, crossing my arms as I glowered at the cage. “Not for that.”
“Oh,” said the Furtive, twitching his whiskers so that faint glints of light seemed to spark from them, “I already learned the secret I needed from you. Unlock.”
With an ominous click, the door to the golden cage sprang open. First Word preserve me, I was a fool! I’d let the creature trick me close enough, and he’d stolen the magespeak right out of my mind.
The Furtive sprang out like a shimmering ribbon of silver, straight at Moppe. She shrieked, catching his velvety body in both hands. “But you,” the creature hissed, writhing in her grip, “you have so many secrets. Give them to me. I promise, it will feel so much better to share them.”
“No!” Mopp
e flung the Furtive, sending him tumbling to the floor several yards away.
He rolled with boneless ease, back on all four feet within a heartbeat. “Very well. Our deal is concluded,” he chittered. “And it is time I continued my hunt.”
Then he was away, bounding across the carpet toward the windows. A tiny voice repeated the unlock spell a second time. A window cracked open onto the dark night. By the time I reached it, the Furtive was gone.
“Why didn’t you stop him?” I turned on Moppe. “You had him! You could have put him back in his cage!”
“He—he was going to find out”—her voice cracked—“my secrets!”
“Well, that’s just wonderful.” I groaned. “How are we going to explain this to Master Betrys?”
“Explain what, exactly?” said a voice from behind us.
Moppe gave a faint squeak. Both of us turned away from the window to find Master Betrys standing on the threshold of the study in her dressing gown. “Explain how the two of you ended up in my locked study? Or explain how you allowed a dangerous magical creature to escape?”
“I—I’m sorry, Master Betrys. I was just…” I dragged in a long breath, trying to find the words to convince her. It was worse than when I smashed one of Mother’s favorite porcelains when I was five and tried to hide the pieces in a potted palm.
“Searching for Queen Meda’s crown?” she suggested.
“Y-yes.”
“And what did you learn?” Her voice was cool and level as always, and the glint in her brown eyes was considering. Surely Betrys would understand if I could just explain properly. She was fair. She listened to me.
“That you have a clue to finding the crown. And that you’ll give it to your most deserving apprentice.” I straightened my shoulders. It was now or never. “That’s—”
“Me!” said Moppe. “I know I haven’t been an apprentice long, but look at everything I’ve done. The turnips. That tree down by the cave. Please, Master Betrys, I’m the only one who can keep the crown safe!”