by Tim Susman
“They’ll get a battle.” Kip rested a paw on Coppy’s arm as the otter opened his spell book and silently recited spells.
“I don’t see how you can admire John Adams and not have at least a small amount of interest in independence.” Emily set the paper down. “They want to begin a new country here.”
“What do they want with me?” Kip asked, to forestall an argument.
“Master Hobstone asks if I would talk to any of the new apprentices, ‘but most especially either of the two excellent Calatians.’”
“Why us?” Coppy didn’t look up.
“He doesn’t say.”
Kip exhaled. “Patris has already warned me about talking to the rebels.”
“Independence movement.”
“He doesn’t care what I call them.” The fox shoved a pile of paper across the half-circle boundary on the floor, and Neddy leapt on it, incinerating the entire thing in a blast of heat. “If he thinks I’m going to rebel against the Empire, he’ll expel me faster than Neddy took care of that paper.”
Emily tossed her head so that her shoulder-length brown hair flared out before settling down again. “It won’t hurt you to simply talk to them. Either of you.”
“Aye,” Malcolm said. “I’m certain Master Windsor will be much more forgiving than Patris.”
Coppy flinched at the name. “I’d rather not,” he said, and returned to his spell studies.
“Why are you so interested in them?” Kip asked Emily, squeezing Coppy’s arm.
She fluttered the paper in her hand, then set it down next to her spell book. “Because Master Hobstone took me seriously. He taught me enough to get admitted here and I owe him at least the courtesy of passing along his request.”
“And now you’ve asked me and Coppy,” Kip said.
Emily opened her spell book and stared down at it as though she were reading, but after a few minutes she said, “If you really want to find a new way, you’ve got to step off the path eventually.” Nobody answered, but Kip folded his paws in his lap, thinking about Jacob Thomas.
“It might not be so bad,” Coppy whispered to him that night, as they lay side by side on their bedrolls. “Talking to the independence people, I mean. Maybe we could learn sorcery somewhere else.”
“Here and London are where the best sorcerers are,” Kip replied, paws laced behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. There was enough light from Neddy’s glow in the dim basement for his eyes to pick out patterns in the stone, and after months of sleeping here, he knew them well. “The ones in Boston are the ones rejected by the colleges. What are they going to teach us?”
Coppy hesitated. “Magic without calyxes? Like Emily said?”
The word brought back the coppery taste to Kip’s mouth and the desire to go find his father and ask why he hadn’t shared that knowledge with Kip. He forced both down. “If they don’t have calyxes, they can’t summon demons, and if they can’t summon demons, they’ll lose any war they start with the Empire.” Odden’s book, page after page of powerful demon names, danced before his eyes. “And if sorcerers didn’t need calyxes, what would happen to New Cambridge?”
“People wouldn’t…” Coppy paused. “It’s not just the sorcerers they fear.”
“No,” Kip said.
“The Church says we’re people.”
“And Farley Broadside, good churchgoer, has taken note of that?”
Coppy’s large chest rose and fell. “The world’s not made of Farleys.”
“No, but they live in it.”
“I suppose.” Coppy turned onto his side, away from Kip. “I’d like to believe there’s more good people than bad.”
“Me too,” Kip said.
“As long as the good people stay together, we’ll do okay.”
“I have to stay in this college.” Kip clenched his fists and stared up at the ceiling, lit with flickers of Neddy’s light. “Whatever it takes. When I’m a full sorcerer, then I can worry about the rest of it.”
“I understand why you can’t talk to them,” the otter said softly. “But if Patris were not here, if there were no risk, would you want to? For the chance to create something that’s never before been seen?”
It was difficult to imagine the College without Patris. Kip spoke after several seconds of considering his words. “Perhaps.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to perform a Great Feat? Maybe it doesn’t have to be a magical one.”
The otter’s positive assurance eased the pressure in Kip’s chest. It was a good thought, and he stored it away for a future time when he might make use of it. “Thanks,” Kip said, and reached out to clasp Coppy’s paw.
For a moment they lay in silence, until the otter spoke again. “Did you summon a demon?”
Kip lay and stared up for the length of time it took him to trace one line from the relative brightness over the phosphorus elemental to where it met the wall on the other side. “Yes.”
“Good,” Coppy said.
Searching the ruins would take time, so over the next few days Kip had to practice not only summoning and binding, but holding demons for long periods of time. Master Odden had him keep a demon bound while studying history books, and then while casting easy physical magic spells, and then while casting spells that required more concentration.
Through all of this, he maintained the binding on Neddy, but that drew very little of his energy and none of his focus. Unlike the phosphorus elemental, Nikolon fought whenever Kip cast a spell, at the times his magic reserve was weakest, and once managed to break the fox’s binding. Kip was ready, though, and even as Master Odden was casting his spell, Kip cast it as well and re-bound the demon.
“It’s important you know what it feels like when a demon escapes the binding,” Odden said as Kip picked the prickly burrs out of his fur that the demon had cast there, “and you will not be summoning dangerous demons for quite a while yet.”
It was fortunate that Patris had given up supervising Kip’s lessons after that first one, or Kip was sure the headmaster would have had much more to say about Kip making the exact mistake every apprentice (so Odden told him) made in the course of this learning. Additionally, each of the lessons began with the uncomfortable calyx ritual, but without Patris in the room Kip found it easier to endure. For his own peace of mind, he tried to drink less and less of the calyx’s blood every time, to see whether there was a point at which he would no longer be able to summon a demon. If there was, he did not find it in those two weeks that concluded the first month of his apprenticeship.
At dinner in the outdoors dining tent, Kip and his friends talked about the work they’d been doing in the afternoons with their masters. Emily’s master, Argent, had been focusing strongly on her translocational magic, and by the end of the first month felt that perhaps in as little as another week she would be ready to transport herself. “It’s all in the memory of the place,” she said. “I’m very excited to go home to Boston and show off to Mother.”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t summon elementals.” Kip cut a piece of the cheese they’d been provided and paired it with a hunk of bread. “It’s mostly a matter of knowing the place they come from.”
“But it’s not a real place,” she pointed out. “How am I supposed to know how I feel there?”
“You imagine it.” He ate the bread and cheese and then tapped his nose. “Smell works for me.”
“Far better than for the rest of us.” Malcolm sat beside Kip and across from Coppy. “Master Vendis says I’m not to try summoning anything until Easter at the earliest.”
“You’re too good at locking doors and keeping things out,” Kip said. “What about you, Coppy? You haven’t said a word about your work with Windsor.”
The otter chewed his apple thoughtfully. “It’s all physical work, you know. Same thing we did all last year. I’ll be doing it until I get it right, I suppose.” He put the apple down. “So sometime next year perhaps.”
“You’ll get it before
then.” Kip smiled. “You’re smart enough. But you should ask him about summoning water elementals, or doing water alchemy.”
“I miss the water.” Coppy said. “But if I can’t keep five rocks in the air at once, how am I supposed to focus on water elementals or water alchemy?”
“I can summon fire elementals and demons, but I can’t translocate,” Kip said. “Malcolm can’t do either but he’s getting really good at blocking magic. Look, now that we can practice without supervision, let’s just all look at our books and see if anything appeals to you.”
“We tried that before.” But the otter’s objection was quiet and Emily spoke over it quickly.
“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” she said. “And if nothing calls to you, then we’ll pick a spell you want to know and you’ll start learning it.”
Coppy nodded and then turned toward the back of the tent, where Farley Broadside and Victor Adamson sat around their table. Since the Selection where over half the students had been sent to the road crews, the military, or simply dropped from the school for lack of talent, the dining tent had become even more set in its seating pattern. In the other back corner, away from Farley and Adamson, sat Jacob Quarrel and Matthew Chesterton, the only other two apprentices. Though the tent seemed quiet, Kip and his friends knew that a fight was always one or two provocations away, and often the fox’s acute hearing let him eavesdrop on Farley’s plans to start one, giving him and his friends an edge.
This evening, the stout bully and the slender blond boy sat with heads down, paying little attention to Kip and his friends. Still, Coppy gave Kip a questioning look, so the fox focused his ears in that direction.
“They’re not talking about us.” He kept his voice low. “They’re talking about Adamson’s research.”
“That’s good.” Malcolm shot the back table a scornful look. “Maybe he can gather his research if he can’t gather any magic.”
“What’s he researching?” Emily asked.
“Can’t tell.” Kip flicked his ears. “He’s talking about a book he read that had a spell in it he wants to try.”
“If he does find a way to cast magic,” Malcolm said in a lower, more serious voice, “look out.”
“He already has a way to cast magic.” Kip squared his shoulders and lowered his brow, chewing with his muzzle open in an imitation of Farley.
The motion caught the stout boy’s attention. He looked up and squinted at them. “Hey,” he called. “If the lady wants a kiss, she can ask me herself.”
Malcolm barked a laugh and Coppy’s paws tightened into fists, but Emily sliced a piece of bread calmly. “If he’s waiting for that, he’ll be an old man before he’s done waiting.”
“Kip’s summoning demons,” Coppy called over to the table. “Did you know that?”
Kip reached across the table to grab Coppy’s paw as Farley’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?” he hissed.
The otter wrested his paw away. “I want him to know what we can do so he’ll leave us alone.”
“That won’t work!” Kip cried, but Farley was already standing.
“Demons, huh? Something worse than what he already looks like?”
“Something powerful enough to take care of you.”
Overhead, three ravens looked down at them, but Kip knew not to expect any help from them. The masters had made it clear that fighting each other was one of the ways students learned magic; even Patris rarely punished Kip for his role in the fights, unless Farley or Adamson came off noticeably worst. Even now, his nose tingled at the presence of some invisible demon in the dining tent, but it was only there to control the fight, not prevent it.
And Farley was surely heading for another fight now. His expression darkened and flushed, and his voice lowered. “I’m learning some things too,” he said.
Kip couldn’t see Victor Adamson’s expression, but the boy’s head was bowed and he ran fingers through his short blond hair. If Farley was learning something, it was more likely from Victor than from any master. “Coppy,” he growled, “leave him alone.”
Coppy looked back stubbornly, but then Malcolm joined the conversation, calling across to Farley, “Like how to wash? Would make class a great deal more pleasant for all of us.”
“Har har,” Farley said. “When I do learn, I’ll teach the animals there. There’s a stink in here alright, but it ain’t me.” Adamson must have murmured something to him, because Farley added, “They started it! I won’t let ‘em talk to me like that.”
“Maybe Kip’s demon can give you a proper bath,” Malcolm said pleasantly. “And do something about that language of yours at the same time. It’s a fright, it is. No wonder you’ve no friends left.”
“I’ve got friends.”
“Oh, aye, Adamson there? I’m guessing you’re as good a friend to him as that knife he’s holding.”
“Charming,” Emily muttered under her breath.
“Probably true, though,” Kip whispered to her.
“Don’t care what power he has,” Farley called. “Or what you all do together in that basement at night. I can take care of him any time I like.”
At that, he stood, and Kip and his friends tensed. Coppy slid off his bench and got to his feet. “And I can take care of you anytime. Done it before.”
Victor put a hand on Farley’s wrist; Farley shook it off. Quarrel and Chesterton sat frozen, staring at the rest of the students, and Kip knew Farley was trying to figure out if he was gathering magic. Intending to show that he wasn’t, he raised his paws.
That simple gesture ended the tense silence, but not in the way Kip had hoped. Farley ducked, his hands glowing lime green. Coppy’s paws glowed turquoise and Malcolm’s orange, but the otter struck first, pushing Farley’s table hard and knocking him back a few steps.
“Not so easy without Carmichael around, is it?” Malcolm taunted, but even before he’d finished the sentence, Kip’s muzzle was forced shut and his arms pinned to his sides. He recognized it as the physical immobilization Farley had used on Coppy the previous month, but knowing what was paralyzing him didn’t help him counter it.
By this time, Emily too was gathering magic, though keeping her arms under the table so that the glow wasn’t visible. Malcolm and Coppy’s attention was fully trained on Farley, and even Emily had turned, so none of them noticed Kip’s plight. Coppy hadn’t bothered to gather magic again; he crossed the dining tent with four steps, shoving the table aside as he yelled, “Don’t cast it. Don’t cast it!” at Farley.
Only then did Emily turn to see that Kip had remained immobile. “Wait,” she cried, but Coppy had already landed on Farley, grappling with him. The otter’s thick musculature made him more than a match for even Farley, and with the boy focused on his spell, Coppy was able to knock him down and land at least two punches before Farley threw him aside.
And then Kip was lifted and flung toward the opening of the tent, outside into the bitter cold air. As horrible as immobilization had been, being moved around against his will was a hundred times worse. And Coppy had endured this for half an hour or more, being floated about in the air helplessly before Kip had finally appeared so that Farley could slam the otter into the stone walls of the Tower.
He wasn’t slowing down. The tent receded before him, and the memory of Coppy only fixed in his mind what Farley intended to do to him. Did the school’s demons know that a fox-Calatian’s bones were light, far more fragile than an otter’s or even a human’s? Would they stop him before—
His back and shoulders slammed into hard stone, and distantly he heard a series of cracks. There was a moment of shock, and then as he toppled forward, pain exploded through his upper body. He fell, the air cold through his fur as the ground rose to meet him, and he squeezed his eyes shut through tears of agony.
3
Dependence
He woke to a dull ache in an unfamiliar bed, softer than his bedroll and higher off the ground, with a rough cotton sheet over him and his head propped up on
some rounded surface. He ached from his neck to his lower back and also along one side of his jaw, but a few cautious movements reassured him that his shoulders and back were whole, if bruised. He was able to lift his head enough to see a small stone room with a narrow shuttered window, but not enough to see if there were chairs or other furniture around him.
The first smell he caught was a light smell of blood, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his own. With his next breath he caught a trace of the scent of the healer, Master Splint, and then he understood what had happened. No other beds in the room were occupied, so his friends must have not sustained serious harm. But Coppy…Coppy had physically attacked Farley, something he’d only done twice before, both times down in New Cambridge, both times when Farley had thought to attack the two of them in some place without witnesses. Here he’d done it in full view of the other students and the ravens, and although Kip could sympathize with Coppy’s feelings and the need for revenge after his humiliation, he wished his friend had had a little more restraint. It said something about Farley’s nature, though, that he was the only one who’d driven Coppy to violence.
If Coppy were expelled, what would Kip do? He lay and thought about that. Before their Selection, he would have said that he’d follow Coppy away from the school. Coppy hadn’t wanted that then and wouldn’t want it now. His chest did tighten at the thought of life without his closest friend, the emptiness of the basement at night. Malcolm and Emily were good friends, but he and Coppy had shared happy times like the Feast of Calatus and difficult times like, well, anything involving Farley. Coppy knew his parents, had lived with them, understood Kip’s feeling of betrayal at their departure. He knew what it meant to be a Calatian in this world.
Secondarily, anyone who thought Calatians had no business learning sorcery would only have him left to worry about, and there were enough people on that list—Farley, Patris, other masters, perhaps even Victor, though his motivations were difficult to fathom—that Kip felt exhausted at the mere thought of having to watch out for all of them.
