by Tim Susman
Kip didn’t know what to say as Cott trailed off, other than, “Thank you,” so he said that, and that acknowledgment revived the man’s spirits.
“Oh, you know, I do my best. But that you should be a fire sorcerer, of all things, it’s quite, well, I think it’s wonderful.”
This last was said with a stubborn firmness of tone, as though Kip might protest that he’d really rather not specialize in fire, if it was all the same to Cott. He didn’t want to say “thank you” again, so he said, “I’m pleased to be working with you.”
“Yes, yes, and you had something to show me.”
Now Cott’s eyes shone eagerly as Kip reached into his bag and brought out the first glass bead he’d found. Saul’s was still in the perfume bottle wrapped safely in one of his tunics; Odden had given him a small wooden box to hold the other, and that was what he now passed over to Master Cott.
The sorcerer took the box to the window and prised the lid from it carefully. Without touching the bead, he held the box up to the light and examined it from all angles, his expression turning intent, almost hungry as he watched the bead roll around, casting small reflections around the sides of the box.
Cott reached in with his other hand, then stopped and peered over the box at Kip. “It is safe to touch?” At Kip’s nod, he gently lifted the bead out between two fingers.
“Ah,” he said. “Yes. I feel it.” He closed his eyes and then opened them to meet Kip’s. “You felt it too, the spirit of fire left within?”
“I didn’t know what it was, but it smelled like fire, and when I felt it, it reminded me of the feeling of fire.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how better to say it.”
“Glass is fused by fire and remembers the fire that made it. If you put your hand—your paw to this window, you may feel the echo of the fire. But in this window it is very weak. The memory of fire is stronger in the bead; there is more going on here.” He replaced the bead in the box and fitted the lid back onto it. “I will of course be pleased to instruct you in fire sorcery while we investigate this.”
“Thank you.” Kip reached out to take the box back, but Cott lifted the lid of the chest and dropped the box into it. It was open for only a second, but that was long enough for Kip to see the gleam of the top of the silver goblet in it.
That dampened his enthusiasm slightly, taking the curl from his tail so it dragged on the floor. “Will we be having lessons now or should I take my bag to my quarters?”
“Quarters? Oh. Ah, yes, I thought it best that you stay here in the workspace.” Cott pointed to one of the tables lying on its side. “I know there isn’t much privacy, but the alternative is for you to stay with the other apprentices, three floors down, and it would be in a bunk in a common space. Not much privacy there, either, and no guarantee as to the behavior of the other apprentices, hah.”
Kip looked around the bare room. “I, uh. I won’t be in the way of your fire spells?”
“Oh, if we’re casting anything like that I’ll remove your things to my office.” Cott’s cheerful manner returned. “And you may come through my office to leave anytime you like. I’m rarely doing anything private in there.”
“I could leave through the windows, too?” This had never been an option in his basement, but Master Jaeger hadn’t seemed to mind.
“Ah, maybe.” Cott shot a look at the windows. “At night, perhaps. There might be a slight problem if you’re seen levitating.”
“Is that against the custom here?”
“Somewhat? We do levitate down to the Isle, but—I meant more that people might not be used to seeing you.”
Ah, it was because a Calatian flying about would be unsettling, maybe raise questions. “I see. People do know I’m here, don’t they?”
“Of course, of course. Myself and Master MacDougal do for sure, heh.” Cott’s laugh died quickly when Kip didn’t join in. “Headmaster Cross knows and all the other masters have at least been told. I can’t be as sure about the apprentices but their masters should have told them. Oh, speaking of that, Master Martinet and Master Farmer and perhaps Master Albright would like to meet you. I’ve suggested a dinner down at the Clock and Pull. That’s a Greenwich pub. They do a very nice steak and kidney pie.”
“Very well,” Kip said. “And I would also like to visit the Isle of Dogs.”
Cott’s face fell. “If you insist, I suppose, although I would recommend against it.”
“I have a letter to deliver.”
“Ah, yes, in that case…I will accompany you there when you need to go. Yes, that should be best.”
Coppy had told him enough stories that Kip was sure he could find it—start from King’s College and look down across the river until you saw a town of Calatians—but he’d never had a sorcerer escort him on an errand and the prospect quite startled him, so he nodded and thanked Master Cott again. “Now,” the sorcerer said, “go down to Miss Hathway and she will provide you with a bedroll to bring up. Oh, never mind, I see you have your own. She’ll have linens, in that case, and will show you where the necessary is for apprentices. You, ah, do you bathe?”
“On occasion,” Kip said. “About as often as normal.” He stopped himself from saying, “And more often than MacDougal, from the smell of him,” because it was his first day in London. But he was sorely tempted.
Masters Martinet and Farmer greeted Kip and Master Cott at the base of their tower and set off to walk to the nearby village. Martinet took Kip’s appearance in stride, but Farmer, a tall, raven-haired man with a dry voice and manner, barked a short laugh. “So it’s true,” he said. “Is he staying with the other apprentices? No? I suppose that’s prudent. Good job you don’t keep chickens, eh, Cott?” Martinet, a brown-haired sorcerer who matched Cott’s height and build, gave a cursory laugh to the joke, but Cott either affected not to understand or honestly didn’t, and Kip remained quiet. Fortunately, that was the extent of the commentary on his nature for the duration of their walk.
The Clock and Pull was probably a light, breezy pub in the summer time, but by the time Kip and the three sorcerers arrived, darkness had been well established outside and all the pub’s windows were shut to keep in the warmth and the smoke from the many oil lamps. Kip had never been in such a crowded public space with so thick a smell of smoke and oil, and it took him a good while to adjust, but even so his eyes watered all through dinner and he kept a napkin over his nose as much as possible.
The rich crust was the best part of the steak and kidney pie, though the stewy mess of chewy beef and soft organ meats inside was at least not over-seasoned to Kip’s palate, as so often happened in Massachusetts Bay. Additionally, his portion was brought out steaming but was cold by the time he finished it, as he was the subject of conversation and scarcely had he taken a bite before another one of the masters directed a question at him: When did he first evince an affinity to magic? What would he have done if the College hadn’t been desperate for students? Had any sorcerer helped him before his admission? How did he learn spells, and was it any different from how humans did?
On this last point Kip did have a little to say; though he was not human and couldn’t tell how humans learned spells, he had noted that he put a stronger reliance on smell than humans did and thereby had learned several spells more quickly than his counterparts.
“Although,” he said, “Master Jaeger at the college did give me a spiritual spell to learn and I am having some trouble with it because I don’t have a scent to associate with spiritual magic.”
“I will take you to Master Gugin,” Cott said. “He’ll help you with spiritual magic.”
“Hm.” Master Farmer shook his head. “You’re quick to volunteer Gugin’s services.”
“He’ll help.” Cott didn’t catch the warning in Farmer’s tone, but Kip did.
“Is Master Gugin very busy?” he asked.
Farmer nodded, and turned to Martinet, who had made short work of his pie and already had ordered seconds. “What do you think?”
“The question is more whether Penfold can tolerate him than the inverse.” Martinet covered his mouth and belched. “Spiritualists.”
Cott rolled his eyes. “You know, Penfold, that spiritual magic is said to take a toll on one’s sanity. Spend years cleaning coal scuttles and the dust never quite comes out of your skin. But your master Jaeger sounds perfectly fine.”
Fine, Kip supposed, for someone who stayed in his rooms and talked to people through his raven. And then there was Forrest, too, and Peter, neither of whom seemed completely sane. “I’m willing to try. Master Jaeger thought it very important that I learn this spell.”
“Yes, why is that?” Farmer asked.
“Because—” Kip stopped. Could he tell them about the spirit in the Tower? And if not then what other reason could there be? “Because he feared that as a fire sorcerer, untrained, I could be convinced to wreak great harm.”
“Hum.” Martinet nodded. “Surprisingly rational for a spiritualist. I don’t know as I would’ve thought of that.”
“Put it that way to Gugin and he’ll more likely help,” Farmer said, pointing his fork at Kip. “So tell me, have any other Calatians shown an affinity for magic?”
So Kip told them about Coppy, who hadn’t until he’d enrolled, and then he told them about the reaction in his town when he’d enrolled, how half of them hadn’t approved. The masters made sympathetic noises but little else, and in the ensuing lull, Kip finally finished his dinner. They got up and left without paying, and Kip noticed the barkeep giving them a dirty look. “Er,” he said. “Did you already pay?”
“Oh.” Martinet shook his head carelessly. “We pay sometimes if we have the money, but the businesses around here are quite happy to have our custom.”
“You should make sure to pay if we aren’t here with you,” Farmer said, and he didn’t have to explain why.
9
The Isle of Dogs
Miss Hathway grudgingly provided bed linens and asked several times why Kip wasn’t bedding down with the other apprentices and whether she’d be asked to look after his sleeping area, and even after the third reassurance that she would not, she told him to keep it clean or she’d take it out of his hide. And then she gave him a red, white, and blue scarf to keep his neck warm when he went outside, or to put over his ears, and when he thanked her, she said, “Ah, dear, I have a whole stack of them. I knit when I’m bored, and since my daughter went off to work in Blackheath, I’m bored all the time I’m not working.”
There was no moldering paper in the workshop, but Kip found the smell of phosphorus from the other room comforting, and the chill didn’t bother him. He did, however, lie awake on his bed staring at the ceiling for quite a while, his mind returning to Coppy’s expression when he’d left. Why had he used Peter’s journal to make Coppy forget him? At the time it had seemed a kindness to both of them, but now he wished there’d been a proper good-bye. He couldn’t even send Coppy a letter to say he was sorry. There had to be some way letters were transported from here to the Colonies, but he only knew where Cott’s office, the roof, and the dining hall were. Maybe Cott would help him post a letter. But first, he would have to deliver Coppy’s letter to the Isle; then he would have actual news to tell Coppy and he wouldn’t simply be writing to say he was sorry.
He supposed that if he didn’t want to give the letter to anyone else, he could summon Nikolon to take the letter to Coppy. How long would it take the demon to go to the Colonies? Could she translocate or would she transport it physically? That last could take…weeks? Did demons fly faster or slower than boats?
The thoughts ran around and around in his mind like the mice in his attic. After a time, they frustrated him enough that he got out of his bedroll with its freshly-scented linens to cast fires and practice his focus for two more hours until he felt tired enough to sleep.
The morning came far too early, and when Master Cott opened the door to the workroom, he carried a piece of bread and a small cup of tea. “So sorry,” he said, “I forgot to tell you where to go for your breakfast in the morning.”
“It’s all right.” The bread and tea helped shake the sleepiness out of his head, and then he and Master Cott continued to examine the bead. Cott tried engulfing it in fire, and Kip tried talking to it as though it were a fire; Cott brought out a spell to make otherwise non-flammable objects burn, and cast it with very precise focus on the bead, assuring Kip that it would only burn one edge of it.
But that spell did not work either, and Master Cott set the bead back with the same cheerful demeanor. “We must think of other things to try. You can read, yes? Of course you can, what am I saying. I will give you a stack of books and papers related to fire and if you come across anything useful, we may try it tomorrow, or the next day.”
“Yes, sir.” Kip was about to ask if he would have further lessons, and then reflected that reading about fire magic would in fact count as a lesson. “Will I have some time this afternoon to go down to the Isle?”
Master Cott’s smile remained fixed. “I would prefer it if you began the reading immediately.”
“I would very much like to deliver this message while it’s light. It won’t take long,” Kip promised. “I’ll be back within the hour.”
The sorcerer sighed. “Very well, very well. But,” he wagged a finger, “one hour. And you will begin the reading immediately after. You’ve promised.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And.” Cott pulled on Kip’s tunic as he headed for the office. “Do use the window. It’ll be faster. And Master Albright would like to have dinner with you tonight. Just him.” He laughed shortly. “Don’t worry, he’s very nice. He treats his calyxes very well.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.” Kip changed direction and headed for the window, calling magic to him as he reached for the latch. He wanted to escape before Cott remembered that he’d promised Kip the great courtesy of an escort to the Isle.
“It will be down at the Clock and Pull again, most likely. I’ll describe him for you when you get back.”
“Thank you, sir,” Kip said, pulling the window open. The cold, humid air washed briskly over his nose and ears, perking them up.
“Now, to get to the Isle, go to the roof and face north, across the river. Directly across from King’s College is a little peninsula separated from the riverbank by a wall. This is the Isle of Dogs.” He stopped and took a breath. “Now, once you’re there, to find someone, you’ll want to locate Mr. Geoffries. He’s a rabbit, and he’s by way of being the unofficial mayor of the Isle. Just ask him.”
“All right. Thank you, sir.” Kip waited with his paw on the window.
“Oh, and you should wear a robe. You are a sorcerer, after all.”
“The College in New Cambridge is having some made,” Kip said, but Cott had already disappeared into his office.
Kip twitched his tail and then controlled it, staring out the window at the fields and the pretty little cottages below, wondering what he would find in the Isle. If he was ever actually allowed to leave.
Cott returned with a black robe draped over his arm. “Apprentices are meant to wear purple robes as a rule, but some wear black until their purple ones are ready. Now, this may not fit you exactly, but it should do until yours arrive, and…” As he held it out, he stopped. “Well, perhaps it would be more politick for you not to wear the robes. I mean, if there are some who have not heard of you, it would be a surprise to see a Calatian in a sorcerer’s robes.”
“Whatever you think best.”
Cott draped the robe back over his arm and looked away, then made a quick dismissive gesture. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’re back. Oh! I should come with you.”
He dropped the robe to the floor of the workshop and made to begin casting a spell. Kip cleared his throat, thinking quickly. “Actually, sir, I…I wouldn’t want to take so much time out of your afternoon. This errand is simply to deliver a letter to the family of a friend. It won’t be very interesting
at all.”
The sorcerer frowned. “Are you afraid the Calatians will respect you less if you arrive with a sorcerer? I assure you, all of our calyxes live on the Isle and they have the greatest respect for us.”
“I’m certain of it.” Kip flicked his tail. “If you really wish to come walk around the streets of the Isle and look for my friend’s family for an hour, then of course you may come along.”
He tried to look properly eager as Cott considered that. “I suppose…I needn’t go, if…you’ll just go and come right back?”
“One hour,” Kip said, and cast the spell as he stepped out of the window.
From afar, the Isle looked idyllic, bounded on three sides by the River Thames and on the fourth by a stone wall. The houses were small and cramped and did not gleam, but then, not many places in London did, and anyway clouds blocked the sun.
Kip descended from the college roof but did not touch down on the ground. He levitated himself to the river and over it, and only when he was halfway across, the icy wind making him wish for Mrs. Hathway’s scarf, did it occur to him that perhaps flying across the water to come up on the bank might not be the best way to introduce himself to the Calatian community here. If they didn’t know he was a sorcerer, they might be suspicious of a fox flying across the water. Better to land elsewhere and walk up to the Isle.
So he altered his course and made for a dock a hundred feet or so downriver from the Isle. Despite his best efforts, he attracted a good deal of attention from the longshoremen—all human save for one otter—unloading boxes from a ship moored at the dock, as well as three sailors on the boat itself. How did the sorcerers cross the river, he wondered? Go all the way down to the London Bridge, which wasn’t even visible? Take a ferry across? He hadn’t seen a ferry station; then again, he hadn’t actually looked.
