The Demon and the Fox

by Tim Susman

  That same sort of worry gnawed at him as he approached the Inn; while he knew nothing of the independence movement, it was easy to spurn it. What if Mr. Adams possessed the eloquence of his father and made a case Kip could not in good conscience refuse?

  At the Inn, Old John greeted him. “Some gentlemen here to see the fox sorcerer,” he said. “I told ’em your name. Seems as how they ought to know it.”

  “Thank you,” Kip said. “Where are they?”

  The innkeeper hooked a crooked thumb toward the back of the inn. “By the rear fire. Five of ’em.”

  Five? He peered back to where five men indeed sat around a table with a sixth space open at the end nearest Kip. Behind them, a fire cast light onto the faces of the three facing it, while the other two remained in shadow. Four of the five were leaning in to hear the words of the fifth, a man in his forties with well-manicured thinning hair and a high, sloping forehead. When Kip perked his ears in that direction, he heard the man’s precise, educated voice concluding a joke: “…after thinking on it a moment replied, “A little more.””

  Emily took Kip’s arm and guided him toward the table as it burst into short, genuine laughter. The man who’d told the joke was the first to see them, and he got to his feet, after which the others followed. “Miss Carswell, I presume,” the first man said, and then, “And there is no mistaking Mister Penfold. Thank you so much for granting us your time.” He extended a hand. “I am John Quincy Adams. May I present Samuel Bayard, Master Hobstone, Master Kolis, and Alexander Lawrence.”

  Emily embraced Master Hobstone warmly, and Kip shook the hand of each man in turn. They smelled of scented powders, but below the powders lay the smells of the men themselves, sweating with apprehension. Over meeting him, or over discussing treason in the open? Kip took the empty seat as Mr. Lawrence, seated across from him, rose to offer his seat to Emily.

  Adams cleared his throat and kept his voice low. “I am here to represent Boston; Mr. Lawrence represents New York, and Mr. Bayard represents Philadelphia. Master Hobstone and Master Kolis hail from Boston but have friends in both New York and Philadelphia as well as Richmond and Raleigh. I tell you this so that you will do away with any supposition you may have that we are a group of malcontent Bostonians. Our cause is felt throughout the colonies, and each colony has agreed in principle to an American Congress wherein we may address the issue of independence.”

  “Wasn’t, er,” Kip felt very young, almost as though he should be standing next to Mr. Lawrence. “Wasn’t the first Continental Congress hanged?”

  Adams laughed. “You should drive my father into a rage if you said that in his presence. No, the Empire spread that rumour to instill fear in the populace lest they attempt to organize such a Congress again. We keep our heads and voices low for the moment less out of fear of the Empire than of our fellow colonists.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be. The rumours were spread in order that people would believe them, and until now you’ve had nobody with direct knowledge to contradict them.” Adams tapped the table. “The Continental Congress negotiated with the King and Parliament, using the threat of war to reach a compromise that benefited the colonies. But many of the compromises have fallen away in the forty years since then. Indeed, the only concession remaining is that the American colonies have a representative in Parliament—a member of the House of Commons without the right to vote, who reports back to us that the best days he has are the ones when he is merely ignored by his so-called peers. Britain quarters soldiers by fiat, taxes us more heavily now than she did in 1775, and,” he gestured toward the college at the top of the hill, “has been proven unable to defend us against the most terrible threats.”

  “Napoléon was a threat to the world,” Kip argued. “We had to defeat him. Had he beaten England, his colonies would have taken over our own, and then we would be living under an emperor with no Parliament to check him. We would be a conquest.”

  “Of course,” Adams agreed. “But what need was there to impose His Majesty’s soldiers on the colonies, when some would have given them quarter gladly? Why, except to remind the colonies that they are the property of the Empire?”

  “I don’t—” Kip looked around the table, up at the young Mr. Lawrence, who nevertheless had the advantage of him by at least a decade. But he had stood up for himself against Patris, against Windsor, and these men wanted his help. “I don’t know how wars are fought.”

  “Do you know who bore the greatest burden? Not here in New Cambridge, not near the sorcerers, but in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Richmond?” Adams leaned forward. “The Calatians.”

  Kip’s ears flattened. “What do you mean?”

  “Soldiers come to a town with royal decrees that they must be boarded. Very well, the mayor says, we have many households with room. The officers, of course, are boarded with the well-off, those who can afford it. But the other soldiers, the rank and file? Those are housed with the poor, the ones who can’t afford to say no. Many of them are imposed on the Calatians, who in those larger cities can barely afford to feed themselves. They were required to feed the soldiers first.”

  Kip’s ears flushed. Nobody in New Cambridge talked about it, nor had the few visitors they had from those cities. And now this lawyer from Boston, albeit a very smart man and the son of someone Kip respected greatly, knew more about the plight of the Calatians than Kip himself did. “I didn’t know about that,” he said.

  “You have the advantage of living in a very sheltered life in New Cambridge. I’m sure your life is not free of the greater prejudices against Calatians, but with the protection of the sorcerers, you have escaped many of the small indignities that your fellows suffer.”

  “Is that why you are agitating for independence?” Kip curled his paws into fists. “On behalf of my people?”

  “On behalf of all of our people, Penfold.” Adams leaned forward. “All the people of this continent who want freedom to shape their own destinies. Including Calatians.”

  Kip’s ears perked forward. He didn’t say anything, but Adams perceived the gesture and smiled. “In an independent government of the colonies, the Calatians will have a voice in the government.”

  “The right to vote on government matters?” Kip’s words tumbled out. “To vote for a mayor?”

  “Or a governor or a president, perhaps. Yes.”

  The others around the table kept their expressions carefully neutral. Kip scanned them and then turned back to Emily, who returned a heartened smile. “And women?”

  “Of course.”

  He wanted to push farther. Adams’ recital of the Calatians’ grievances still rankled, as if he’d been accusing Kip of not caring for Calatians as much as he did. And Kip’s worry about his own inexperience and youth had faded with the courtesy and respect he’d been shown. So he pushed Adams. “Indians? Negroes?”

  The man next to Adams, Master Kolis, grimaced. Kip couldn’t see how Master Hobstone reacted, but Samuel Bayard remained impassive while Mr. Lawrence’s eyebrows rose, his face coming to life.

  Adams answered the question with a practiced air. “Those are questions that we are certainly considering but have not yet come to a resolution on.”

  “So you have come to a resolution on the others?” Emily said.

  “Are you all,” Kip gestured at them before Adams could answer Emily’s question, “the leaders, the ones who resolve these issues?”

  At that they did glance at one another, and the neutral expression on even Bayard’s face cracked into a smile. “We represent the leaders,” Adams said.

  “Penfold.” Bayard leaned forward. His breath smelled of meat and ale. “Adams has laid out the case for you to join independence; let me tell you briefly why you should leave the Empire.”

  Kip nodded in his direction. Bayard, a man with a thin face and hooked nose, continued on. “Because we hold the home ground. We have fought on this land and we fight for our freedom. If we gain our independence with
out war…” Here Mr. Lawrence and Master Kolis both snickered. “Then those who supported the Empire will have cause for regret.”

  “We will not force anyone to leave this country,” Adams put in. “The benefits of our campaign will be available to all, even those who do not recognize their necessity.”

  “But the positions of leadership,” Bayard persisted, “will go to those who have supported independence. And if it does come to war…” He closed his fist and set it on the table, and his eyes when they met Kip’s were hard and cold. “We will win.”

  The crackling of the fire sounded very loud in the silence that followed this declaration. Kip’s self-assurance weakened, but against the certainty and authority of these men, he reminded himself, he should set all the masters of the College as well as the might of the Empire. Next to such institutions, the crusade to overturn them took on a quixotic air.

  “These are weighty questions we have put before you, Penfold,” Adams said with a slight smile. “We meet you face to face to show you our dedication to our cause and to convince you that you would be well respected should you choose our side. We do not ask for a decision now, only to advise you that the moment when you must decide is closer than you might think it is.”

  “If you want to decide now,” again Bayard leaned in, “it would assist us immeasurably in our planning.”

  The respect and courtesy now felt oppressive. Kip shifted in his seat. “I’m just one sorcerer,” he said. “Not even fully trained. I can’t translocate like Emily, I can’t do most alchemical magic…”

  “You know fire.” Master Hobstone gestured to Emily. “So Miss Carswell tells us. That affinity is rare indeed. In warfare, there are few skills more prized. A master of fire can end a battle. Paired with a translocational sorcerer, he can end several battles in a day.”

  “Rarely are battles fought in the same day,” Adams said. “But you take our point, Penfold. You may not have many talents as a full sorcerer, but the ones you do have are extremely valuable, and as a single battle may win or lose a war, the side you choose might well decide the fate of our movement.”

  “And there will be sorcerers on our side to continue your instruction in other disciplines,” Master Hobstone continued. “I am skilled in alchemical magic and Kolis here is a translocational specialist.”

  Kolis’s sour expression had deepened into bitterness at the mention of Kip’s fire affinity, but now returned to mere displeasure at the prospect of instructing a Calatian sorcerer. Nonetheless, he nodded curtly and did not scowl as much as he had when Kip had mentioned Negroes and Indians.

  Despite their patient words, clearly they wanted Kip to commit to their cause immediately. But Kip still imagined the weight of the Empire and how small and foolish this group of men looked beside all of that might. When he’d asked if they were the leaders, their answer had unexpectedly revealed to him how small their movement was. If all the men at this table were arrested, would the independence movement crumble? How much damage would they be able to do to the Empire? The prospect of improvements in the lives of Calatians was appealing, but if it were nothing more than the imaginary pot of gold at the end of a very dangerous rainbow, then he risked his own life for a fool’s errand.

  So he said, “I thank you all for the trouble you’ve taken to come here. I will think long and hard about what you’ve presented to me, and when the time comes, I am sure I will be able to make the right decision.”

  Adams didn’t allow any disappointment onto his face, but Bayard leaned over, hiding his mouth, and said, “I told you,” softly enough that he probably assumed Kip couldn’t hear. Adams didn’t react to that either, simply rose and extended his hand.

  Kip also stood and shook it. “I hope you will remember the lives that hang in the balance of your decision,” Adams said.

  “You have made that very clear,” Kip responded.

  He shook hands with each of the other men as they rose in turn, and then, as they seemed inclined to stay, he and Emily took their leave.

  They had not even made it outside the Inn before Emily said, “I don’t understand what’s holding you back.”

  “What,” Kip said, one paw on the door handle, “you’re ready to…” He almost said, “betray your country,” but stopped himself in time. “Just…agree to everything?”

  “Miss Carswell,” a familiar dry voice called from behind them, “I would advise you to refrain from answering at the present time.”

  Emily’s face reflected the cold that gripped Kip’s stomach and chest. They both turned to see the stern, thin-lipped Master Windsor behind them. “Come,” he said, “let us walk outside. The weather is so much kinder there.”

  They stepped out into a cold drizzle driven into their faces by the breeze. “Master,” Emily said, regaining some of her composure and color—or perhaps the flush in her cheeks was merely from the cold. “We were simply having a discussion with some friends of—of my old teacher of sorcery in Boston.”

  “I know well with whom you were conversing,” Windsor said.

  “You won’t tell Master Patris, will you?” Kip burst out. “You always said we have potential, and we didn’t agree to anything, I promise you, but he’s so afraid we might…”

  Windsor held up a hand, and Kip’s words lost steam. “Penfold, Miss Carswell. I have no knowledge of your conversation, nor do I wish to acquire any. I am observing history.”

  “How did you happen to be at the Inn?” Emily asked.

  “And,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken, pausing to rest with one hand against the trunk of a tree, “I do not believe that Patris need be informed of your every movement. Should you at some point decide to embrace the cause of independence, I have no doubt that that decision will be well visible to all at the College. Until that day, your thought processes deserve the privacy that all of ours enjoy. And Penfold, contrary to Patris’s fears, I believe that your heritage is more inclined to pull you to support of the Empire.”

  “I am. I mean, it is.”

  Windsor fixed him with a withering glare. “I have already told you, I have no wish to be privy to your personal deliberations. Apart from being potentially compromising to my own neutral position, I am fantastically uninterested in the long and tedious process through which you come to decisions. Therefore I would be most pleased if you would do me the favor of keeping your thoughts on the matter to yourself.”

  Emily and Kip exchanged looks. “If you’d rather go on up by yourself,” Emily said, “we can let you go.”

  “I would think you would prefer to keep my company. Patris is less likely to ask questions if we all return together. No, I will remain with you, and you will remain quiet for the blessedly short journey. I trust that is not an undue burden.”

  So they let him lead the way up the hill, to the gates, and back to the college. And when they reached the Tower, he left them without a word, striding across the Great Hall to the stairs and up to his quarters.

  “Has he gotten stranger?” Emily asked. “Or is it just that we haven’t seen him much outside of class for the last month?”

  “We could ask Coppy.” Kip stopped to greet the fireplace elementals while Emily stood a few steps ahead, impatient. “All right, I’m coming. Sorry, fellows.”

  They chorused their pardons as he walked on and followed Emily down the stairs, back to the dank door and the smell of old paper and phosphorus and a little bit of the scent of otter. Malcolm wasn’t there, but Coppy got up to greet them. “How did it go?”

  “They really want Kip to join them,” Emily said before Kip could answer. “Mr. Adams was very eloquent and still Kip is being stubborn.”

  “They said I don’t have to decide now,” Kip said. He crossed past Coppy and leaned against the bookshelf that shielded their bedrolls from the rest of the basement. “They have nothing but a list of people who want independence and a few sorcerers without any affiliation.”

  “Is it the College that makes sorcerers great, then?�
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  “The greatest sorcerers study here!” Kip waved to the ceiling. “If the sorcerers aren’t here, or in London, then what are they doing? What are they studying?”

  Emily folded her arms. “Thomas held that school is all well and good, but there’s a time when one must seek experience in the real world. That’s what you can learn outside the college.”

  “Thomas, the husband you left because you disliked him so much?”

  “He knew about law.” She brushed her hair back from her face and returned her arms to their folded position.

  “Sorcery isn’t law. I can’t just go muddle my way through casting a spell.” Kip’s tail lashed. “And what if it had been Patris rather than Windsor down there? What if Windsor goes and tells him anyway? He’s told—” He stopped; they didn’t know about Peter. “When I talked to him before Selection I told him some things in confidence, and Master Jaeger knew about them. I don’t trust him to keep this secret.”

  “For Heaven’s sake. If he meant to tell Patris, he would’ve told us.” But even Emily’s sharp words held a quaver of uncertainty.

  “I think he’ll keep the secret, for what that’s worth,” Coppy said.

  “And if I get expelled,” Kip said, “where will I go? I can’t go to London. If only I could, though, I could study sorcery without Patris looking over my shoulder the whole time…” An idea occurred to him. He paced away from Coppy and Emily for a moment, staring down at Neddy. The phosphorus elemental was curled, just like a real lizard two and a half feet long, in a blackened patch of stone. And the stone reminded Kip of Peter, bound to the stone to guard the Tower. He had summoned Neddy; he had spoken to Peter, all on his own. He had made his own decisions there and he could make his own decisions here.