The Demon and the Fox

by Tim Susman

  “But first I’ll have my trophy.” He crouched down and showed Kip the knife, holding it in front of his eyes. “Pity y’can’t move. It’d be fun to see those ears go back.” Farley stabbed forward and pulled the knife to one side, and a sting of pain flared at the base of Kip’s ear. “But I’ll take what I can get.” He stood and walked around behind Kip. “Course, I can take anything now. So I’ll just take what I want.”

  If the pain in his ear had been a sting, the pain at the base of his tail was a scream, and though Kip couldn’t move his tongue, he gave voice through a guttural moan, his heart and breathing quickening. Warmth filled his head because he couldn’t bring cool air over his tongue, and his vision swam. Something was pushed at the base of his tail, cold and metal, but not the knife—a mug. Farley was collecting his blood.

  Then he stood and stepped over Kip. “There.” A ball of russet fur dropped in front of Kip’s nose. It took a moment for him to recognize his tail. “It’ll do nice on my wall, wherever I’m sent, an’ it’ll remind me why I’m sent there. Because some shit-footed vermin told lies and got me kicked out.” Farley stepped forward and knelt, and the point of the knife settled between Kip’s legs. “I could take this, too,” he said in a low voice, pushing the point into the skin. “Prob’ly should. But I don’t want this filthy thing on my wall, and you won’t have the use of it anyway in a few minutes.”

  Kip held his breath until the pressure vanished. The pain from his severed tail spread, but he fought against it. Must keep a clear head, he told himself as Farley stood. Wait for an opening, any opening. “Think you’re so clever,” Farley said. “I learned to keep one spell going while casting another. Very handy if you want to keep some animal still and quiet while you fetch the trapper to do for it. You and your demons. I got a second-level demon and it’s going to eat you from the inside out.” He laughed. “Or maybe something else. Adamson was right, I got not so much imagination, but I hear demons got plenty. I’ll let it decide what to do.”

  Nikolon had only been able to cause him an itch. Could a second-level demon really kill him? It could at least stab him, and oh God the pain in his tail throbbed and threatened to consume him. He fought to keep his senses. What were his options? Kip couldn’t gather magic because Farley would see it, and without magic, all he could hope for was that today was the day Windsor took Coppy to the sixth floor and Emily came looking for him.

  And he had to stay alert in case Farley’s control wavered while he was casting this other spell. Kip could hold a simple spell while casting another, but it was hard to keep perfect control of both. If Farley had cast a binding, he was out of luck, but he had to hope for the best.

  Farley put the cup to his lips and drank, then spoke his magic-gathering words and began the summoning. Kip listened for the demon name and was surprised when he heard Farley call, “Giroloka.” The name was familiar, though he couldn’t remember where he’d seen it.

  An explosion of the tingle of magic in Kip’s nose made his eyes water as the demon took shape between them, a writhing nest of serpents of all colors and sizes that extended up past Kip’s field of vision. Farley spoke the binding spell. “Giroloka, I am your master,” Farley said. “I order you to destroy that creature in the most entertaining way you can.”

  Idiot, Kip thought, he hasn’t even learned how to order demons around. But that would be small solace to Kip if he were killed along with Farley. He couldn’t stop panting, the loss of blood making him even more lightheaded, but he decided that with his paws behind his back he might as well risk gathering magic now.

  It was more difficult than he’d imagined to find the right state of mind. The snakes in front of him hissed and writhed, though their attention was focused on Farley rather than on him. A deep voice said, “Are you my master?”

  “Yes!” Farley’s voice wavered. “I—I summoned you. I bound you!”

  “Bound?” The voice came from some ten feet above Kip’s head. It shook his bones with its deep rumble. “Ah. You mean this little trifle.”

  No sound came, but Farley backed up five feet in the matter of a second. He recited the first syllables of the binding spell again.

  The voice said, “No,” simply and patiently, and Farley’s words cut off.

  At the same moment, Kip’s muzzle flew open and his tongue lolled out onto the dirt. He sat, bringing another shock of pain, and then struggled to his feet, wiping the dirt from his eyes and mouth. The nest of snakes, he now saw, was only the lower base upon which rested a giant man’s torso, naked, white tinged with blue. His hair, too, gleamed white as frost in the sunlight. He was so large that Kip could see nothing of Farley beyond him.

  “Tell me, little man, where you learned my name.”

  “O’Brien!” Farley screamed as though the word was flesh being torn from him. “O’Brien!”

  Kip backed up, still reaching for magic, and there it was, like cool water over his parched tongue, flowing up and into him. His arms glowed and his mind cleared.

  “Where is this O’Brien? Ah, I see.”

  An unbound demon could wreak terrible havoc on the world, not to mention Malcolm in particular. Kip reached around to the wound where his tail had been and then brought his bloody fingers to his mouth. With that taste, he called for more and more magic, and the magic came.

  “And now, master, I hope you find this entertaining.”

  This scream of Farley’s had no words. It was followed by a mad dash into the brush and then a crash.

  Kip couldn’t focus on that. The words of the dismissal spell hung before him. The demon was called Giroloka. He spoke the first few syllables, building it carefully in his mind. He would not get a second chance, he was sure.

  Giroloka remained facing away from Kip. There was a rush of air and then Malcolm’s voice saying, “—Carswell’s mother is at the—“ He stopped and cried out. “Good Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what—”

  Giroloka spoke. “You should know better than to give my name to untrained idiots. There, for a start.”

  Malcolm cried out again, but in surprise rather than pain. Kip whined through his nose and spoke the last of the spell and then the demon’s name: “Giroloka.”

  Now it turned toward him, and he was reminded of the pictures of Old Man Winter in children’s primers, except that Giroloka’s bluish-white face bore a nasty smile that made Old Man Winter look downright paternal. “Ah, another stripling,” he said, struggling against the spell. Kip put both paws out toward him and gritted his teeth.

  “But,” Giroloka said, and cold wind swirled around Kip. Frost bit his ears and crept into his nostrils. He pushed his magic against the demon’s as the cold seized his bones. But the spell was cast now, and all that remained was Kip pitting his will against the demon’s.

  He wavered at first. Giroloka was strong, so strong. How could he hope to subdue it? But then Malcolm’s face swam into his mind. Malcolm was right here, and the demon had done something to him but not killed him yet. Kip’s spell was all that stood between Malcolm and death.

  Once it had finished with Malcolm, it would turn to New Cambridge. Alice and her family, all the Calatians, Saul’s parents. And then the College: Emily. Coppy.

  In the end, it was Malcolm, Emily, and most of all Coppy that set iron to Kip’s will. He would not allow Giroloka to maim or kill them, and if he was the sole bulwark between this unbound power and their lives, he would hold or die trying. And slowly, that will gained ground, grinding the demon’s presence inward. Giroloka’s deep voice chilled him, filled him with its reverberation. “I’ve not…finished…my…”

  Kip contained the demon’s presence within the dismissal spell and bore down, and the presence howled in his mind, battering him, and then—vanished. The unnatural cold disappeared with him, to be replaced by the natural January cold but also the warmth of the sun. Kip staggered forward as though he’d been pushing physically against something, and someone rushed forward to catch him. Emily’s scent filled his nose over the ta
ng of blood still in his mouth. “That was incredible,” she said.

  “Exhausting.” Kip leaned on her more than he wanted to. “That was—a fourth level demon.”

  “Fourth? Are you sure?” Then she looked toward the brush, and her breath caught. “Malcolm.”

  Kip looked up. Their friend was shuffling slowly toward them, arms outstretched, looking perfectly healthy except that where his eyes should have been, unbroken skin stretched from his forehead to his cheek. “I can hear you two,” he said. “Tell me, is it as bad as it feels?”

  Emily let go of Kip and ran to Malcolm, taking his arm and peering into his face. “Good Lord. Why did he do this to you?”

  “Suspect it was because I gave his name to Broadside there. Well, not exactly ‘gave.’ Bragged loudly about how I was learning to summon powerful second level demons, dropped the paper there. Our boy took the bait, but…” His smile didn’t waver, but his voice did. “Kip, I didn’t think he’d catch you first. I’m sorry. I just thought he’d try to summon it and then make it go after you, and it’d get him instead.”

  “Mostly worked.”

  “I thought at the College, you know, there’d be other demons, other sorcerers—”

  “But oh, Kip,” Emily had turned to face him and her eye fell on the ground behind him. “Your lovely tail.”

  “Never mind that,” he said. “We need to get Malcolm to Splint.”

  “And you too. He can put it back on. Maybe,” Emily said.

  “Did the demon take your tail?”

  “Farley did.” Kip pointed out into the brush. “And—he’s out there too.”

  “Devil take him,” Malcolm said. “But aye, Kip and I need attention. We can wait until next week for Windsor.”

  The pain in his tail along with all the various bruises was reasserting itself now that the demon had been banished, but Malcolm’s words made Kip’s heart pound again. “What?”

  “They’re on the sixth floor,” Malcolm said. “You were right about that. But we can wait until next week. They’ll go back again.”

  Kip bit his lip. “I don’t want to wait.” He had to save Coppy, and all the things Farley had said about him, about Calatians, made him even more determined to save his friend. He couldn’t explain to Emily and Malcolm; they had been made by God.

  “Kip,” Emily said, “you’re hardly at your best.”

  “Not to mention me.”

  It was unnerving to see Malcolm without eyes making pleasant conversation. “I’m fine, I’m good enough to go.”

  “No, Kip.” Malcolm reached out and found the fox’s shoulder. “We can wait.”

  “No.” Kip gripped his friend’s hand and looked into his sightless face. “Every time I’ve seen Coppy the last month or two, he’s as much as begged me to leave the College. I always told him no. Grinda—I met some calyxes on the Isle who said that you can’t tell when a sorcerer’s drained enough blood to kill a calyx. That’s how they died, the ones during the war. What if Windsor’s bleeding Coppy every week? What if he’s killing him?”

  Malcolm lowered his head, but Emily nodded decisively. “You’re right,” she said. “And Coppy’s our friend too, don’t forget. If you feel you’re up to it…”

  “I fear I won’t be much help,” Malcolm said.

  “It’s all right.” Emily kept one arm around him and reached out to grasp Kip’s shoulder with the other. “If Kip has magic and we have Master Albright, then I think that will be enough.”

  “Master Albright being the important part,” Kip said.

  “I suppose you have the right of it.” Malcolm dropped his hand. “All right, you two go on, and I’ll find what’s left of Master Broadbum. What did the demon do to him, anyway?”

  “Don’t know,” Kip said. “I couldn’t see.” He clapped his paws over his muzzle at the thoughtless words, but the blind Irishman didn’t lose his cheerful smile.

  Emily gathered magic. “You get Malcolm and the other one up to Splint. I’ll go fetch Albright. It’ll be more sure if I’m by myself, and you need to be Malcolm’s eyes.”

  Her eyes dropped to his tail, and he knew she had another motive for making him go to the Tower. There wasn’t time to argue. “Go to Cott’s room and wave out the window,” Kip said. “Albright’s raven should be watching.”

  “You talked to him?”

  Kip nodded. “He came looking for me.”

  She opened her mouth to ask more questions and then shook her head. “All right. I’ll bring him to the sixth floor landing.”

  “I’ll be there,” Kip said.

  She stared one last long time at Malcolm’s face and then vanished.

  “Right,” Malcolm said. “Good luck, and thanks.” When Kip didn’t respond, he said, “She’s gone already, isn’t she?”

  “Aye.” Kip reached out for his friend’s hand. “God, Malcolm, I’m so sorry.”

  “For what? Brought this on myself, I have. Pigeons always come home to roost, my ma used to say, and she was right. It was a damn fool idea to give Broadside a demon name out of your bag, and a dishonest thing to do as a friend besides. But I’ve still got my voice and my wits, and you’re alive and Emily’s alive and it sounds like Farley’s been punished, so there’s hope yet.”

  Kip wiped his own eyes. “If I’d been faster with the dismissal…”

  “Sure, Kip, and if wishes were horses we’d have no need of sorcerers. I hope you’ll tell me all that happened—you said the bastard got to your tail, and I’m sorry about that.” He squeezed Kip’s paw. “I’m certain that tonight I’ll be cursing my fate, but from what I saw of that demon, being struck blind is a fortunate outcome compared to what might’ve happened. And we’ve got a marvelous healer up at the College, so let’s see what he can make of it.”

  What Kip knew of demon curses left him with very little hope. “And if I hadn’t brought Farley’s fight to the College—”

  “Let’s not stand here debating while you’ve got a tail to mend, and speaking of Farley, let’s see what the demon’s made of him.”

  Kip guided Malcolm toward the brush where he’d heard Farley stagger and fall, and the first clue he had of what had happened was the smell. It was Farley, but different, more earthy and less rank. And then Kip saw the form lying insensate in the leafless shrubs, and he gasped.

  “You’ll have to tell me,” Malcolm murmured. “As unpleasant as it may be. And the more unpleasant, the better.”

  Kip swallowed. “We’re standing before a large fellow, Farley’s size, only…” He shook his head. “The demon’s made him a Calatian. A marmot, I think, or—I’m not certain.”

  “A fat rat,” Malcolm said. “Strange how the demon knew him so well after only a moment’s acquaintance. All right, where’s the great load? I suppose I’ll have to touch him to lift him.”

  “I can lift you both.”

  “No, you can’t. You’ve had your magic removed, remember?”

  “Oh. Aye.” Kip exhaled. “Thank you.”

  “Just be my eyes. Though if Broadside strikes a few trees on the way up, I won’t hold it against you.”

  So they knelt beside the unconscious Calatian, and Kip put Malcolm’s hand on Farley’s leg. “Right,” the Irishman breathed, keeping the other hand on Kip’s arm. “I think I can do this.”

  His arms glowed orange and then he, Farley, and Kip rose into the air. “Don’t forget your tail,” Malcolm said, and Kip directed him over so he could pick it up. He’d held his tail so many times, but now that it was disconnected, it felt like someone else’s. The feeling was worse than touching Farley, and he tried not to touch the tail with his bare paws, but he was obliged to as Malcolm lifted them higher in the air.

  At the start of the flight, Malcolm dropped a cheerful comment here and there, but as they flew further, he grew quiet. Partly Kip thought this might be due to the cold wind, which brought a red sheen to his friend’s cheeks, but he also thought that Malcolm was feeling acutely the limitations of flying in the dark no
w.

  “Can we go over the back fence?” Kip wondered aloud.

  “Is that where we are?”

  The fox nodded, and then said, “Aye,” feeling guilty. “Let’s go around the front. Slowly ahead, slowly, now reach out, the fence is just ahead of you. There you are.”

  “I’ve got it,” Malcolm said, and they followed it around to the front.

  “Corimea!” Kip called. But there was no answer, no tingle in his nose. “Odd.”

  “They must dismiss and rebind him sometimes,” Malcolm said.

  “But to leave the gates unguarded.” Kip rested his paw on the iron. “Can you imagine Patris agreeing to that?”

  “I don’t know,” Malcolm said. “Shall we go over?”

  Over the gates and to the main entrance, where Kip opened the doors and said, “Here’s the Great Hall, careful now,” as Malcolm felt the edge of the door and Farley’s head hit it.

  “Ah, pity that.” The incident returned a little of Malcolm’s good humor to him.

  Kip closed the door behind him and looked down into the empty Hall. When the apprentices were in private lessons, apparently everyone stayed in their offices. “Burkle?” he called, but nobody answered that call either. No; Burkle had been dismissed and he didn’t know the name of the new demon. But there was no tingle in his nose. “All right,” he told Malcolm. “Stay here and I’ll get Splint.”

  He ran up to the second floor—running was strange without his tail, his balance slightly off so that he kept feeling he was about to pitch forward—and found the red-haired master in his office. “Penfold?” Splint said, startled, and then jumped to his feet when he saw the severed tail Kip carried. “Good God, what’s happened? Is that yours?”