by Tim Susman
Adamson came up to stand beside Kip. “Sir,” he said, “I will happily join your cause. I have always been loyal to the Empire.”
He pressed very close to Kip’s left side, annoying the fox until he realized that Adamson was shielding his arms from view of the sorcerers. He turned to his right—
At that moment, Windsor drove the knife into Coppy’s arm. The otter arched his back, but Windsor held the knife firmly in place. Blood spilled out around the blade into the waiting cup. “I estimate that you now have about one minute to make your decision, Penfold. When I have enough blood I will cast the spell,” he said. “If you haven’t given us the name by that time then Charles will take it. So, will you condemn Lutris—and yourself—to death? Or will you stand on the proper side of history and become a sorcerer of the greatest empire known to man?”
Before Kip could respond, or Windsor could finish, Coppy pushed his arm sharply up into the knife. Windsor sprang back with an oath, but the knife had already done its work. Rich red blood spurted out around it, splashing onto the goblet and the floor. Coppy shook his head at Kip and mouthed something, then lay his head back with a serene smile.
Kip lurched forward to try to help Coppy, though with his hands bound there was little he could do. Albright cursed, and Adamson kicked at the back of Kip’s leg, not to unbalance, but to alert him. Kip snapped his head up and met Albright’s eyes, full of dawning understanding.
He acted out of reflex, calling to fire, and it came joyfully to him in a matter of syllables. But when he sent it to Albright, the stout sorcerer was gone, and his fire flared in the space where he’d been, burning air but nothing else.
Windsor had dropped to his knees beside Coppy and now lifted the goblet of blood to his mouth, drinking from it. Emily lifted her glowing arms, freed from Albright’s spell, and the goblet vanished. But Windsor was smiling with his bloody lips and in his eyes was the spell he was casting.
Adamson charged across the floor, but wouldn’t get there in time. Emily spoke the first syllable of an incantation, but Windsor was already halfway through his. Kip didn’t have to cast a spell. The fire he’d summoned came as quick as thought from the air to the black-robed master, eager for fuel to consume.
Windsor erupted in flame, as if he were a phosphorus elemental. His scream matched the flare of the fire, but cut off as the fire continued to sing in Kip’s mind. His arms flailed ineffectually at his face, and then he staggered back a step. A moment later, his body fell back onto the stone floor, still burning, filling the air with the horrific scent of cooking flesh.
Don’t burn the paper or wood, Kip told the fire as he ran to Coppy’s side and knelt in the blood. Emily ran to the knife and bent to cut the otter’s bonds. “Don’t worry about that,” Kip yelled, “bring him back to the Tower! Coppy. Coppy!”
Coppy’s eyes, half-lidded, seemed to have sunk back into his head with that last effort. Kip ran to his side and knelt in the blood as Emily reached for the knife to cut his bonds. “Don’t worry about that,” Kip yelled, “bring him back to the Tower! Coppy. Coppy!”
“Would’ve killed you,” Coppy murmured. “Not body, but—but soul—couldn’t let you betray yourself to save me—”
“Stay with us,” Kip said, even as the stone floor they were on changed from the cabin to the familiar dusty floor of their basement. He slid his arm under his friend’s head, heedless of the blood. He’d embraced Coppy before, but now the otter’s head lay heavily against him, as though Coppy were asleep. With his other paw, he squeezed the knife wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. “Stay with us, Coppy, c’mon.”
Emily cursed. “Why did I—“
“I’ll go get Splint,” Adamson said, already halfway to the door.
“You and me,” Coppy whispered, and Kip realized that those were the words he’d mouthed when he’d stabbed himself.
“You’re going to be okay, we’re getting Master Splint.” He lowered his muzzle to Coppy’s ear.
“I’m sorry, Kip,” Emily said. “I know the basement best of all, I just came here—”
Kip’s ears perked up. “Peter,” he said, and then, into the stone. Peter!
Coppy’s head lolled in Kip’s arms. Peter! Kip called again.
“What are you—”
“The spirit in the Tower,” Kip said. “Maybe he can help, at least save Coppy’s spirit…”
I am sorry, came Peter’s voice in his head.
Your spell! Kip clutched his friend tighter. Take his spirit out into the stone!
Kip. Peter’s voice was gentle. The spirit must perform the spell himself. I cannot cast it on another.
He couldn’t hear the otter’s breath anymore. “No, no,” he moaned. “Not after that. Please, please stay.” He searched his mind for any spell he knew, but the wounds in Coppy’s arm bled less powerfully now, so much blood already lost. Emily knelt beside him, and Betty came up to them, uncharacteristically silent. “You and me,” Kip whispered, but he was no longer certain the otter could hear him.
And a short time later, when Master Splint hurried to Coppy’s side, the red-haired sorcerer rested one hand on the bloodstained tunic, closed his eyes, and lowered his head.
22
Resolution
There was Patris, after that, but even when Kip was first shown in to see him, he had little of his usual bluster, and at the sight of the fox’s bloodstained tunic, subsided even more. Master Jaeger was also present, for which Kip was grateful; the only question he did not want to answer truthfully was when Patris asked how he was still able to use magic, and Jaeger stepped in at that point to say that he’d determined that what worked on a human did not work exactly the same on a Calatian. With some irritation, Patris asked whether that meant they could never prevent Calatians from using magic, and Jaeger said the matter would require further study. Kip thought to himself that the matter only concerned one person left in the world, and that thought made it difficult for him to talk for several seconds.
But all in all, Patris’s questioning was restrained and polite, and at the end, when Kip stood up stiffly and prepared to leave, the headmaster cleared his throat. “Penfold,” he said, and Kip stopped, one paw on the chair back. “Should you wish to re-enrol at Prince George’s…”
Kip waited, perversely wanting Patris to finish speaking the invitation. The headmaster scowled, and Jaeger again stepped in. “You will be welcome.”
Kip nodded and looked Patris in the eye. “I would like that very much. Thank you, sir.”
“Hmph. You have rendered a service to this college, and while we must work on your restraint, someone of your ability…” He shook his head. “I would rather have you as an apprentice than an enemy.”
All three of them waited, Kip for a dismissal, the other two for something he couldn’t guess at. Finally Patris said, “And I am convinced that you place the welfare of this college above all else.”
“I do, sir,” Kip said. “And that of my friends.”
He put a slight emphasis on the word, like poking at a fresh wound. The smell of Coppy’s blood was all that was in his nose, Coppy’s last words all that rang in his ears. Even during the interview with Patris, Kip replayed the scene in the remote cabin over and over. If only he’d been quicker; if only he’d had more confidence in gathering magic; if only Adamson had moved sooner; if only he’d trusted his first intuition about Albright’s intentions or trusted Jaeger or taken any other sorcerer with them. He’d revisited every conversation he’d had with Albright and found every moment that should have made him more suspicious than he had been, had revisited everything he’d been told about Coppy and found every moment where he should have acted sooner.
He returned to the basement and walked numbly around the piles of paper. Betty chattered at him for a little while and he grew tired of the talk and dismissed her. It seemed more fitting for the basement to be cold anyway. He walked over to Coppy’s bedroll and sat beside it, rubbing his eyes every so often.
Em
ily returned some time later. At the opening of the door, Kip reached up quickly and took Peter’s journal down, not wanting to be disturbed. Indeed, Emily wandered around the basement, rubbing her arms, and then sat down near where Betty had last been.
Why can’t people see me when I’m holding your journal? Kip asked the stone. Who did this to you?
Peter answered quickly, as though he’d been waiting for Kip to talk. I did it to myself. I am bound to protect the Tower, and so the fewer people who know of my existence, the easier my job. But I was so surprised to see another fox, to feel the touch of your mind, that I forgot myself. And I wanted you to know me. So I lifted the spell for you.
Why keep the journal around at all?
Someday I might be killed or released. I want my story to survive beyond that.
Kip lowered the journal and stared at Coppy’s bedroll. Who was going to tell Coppy’s story now? He wished he’d kept a journal, so he could have recorded all the moments they’d shared. Now those moments relied on Kip’s memory, and he’d been careless with them, sure there would always be more to take the place of the ones he’d forgotten.
I’ll make sure it does, he said, and then noticed that Emily was crying into her hands. Embarrassed, he put the journal back on the shelf and cleared his throat.
She stood, composing herself quickly, and wiped her face, leaving dust marks on it. “I didn’t see you there,” she said. “Were you doing your trick again? Is it like the spell on that room?”
“How did it go?” Kip stepped out from behind the shelves.
“Patris is more pleasant than I’ve ever seen him,” she said. She wiped her cheek and sniffed. “I suppose tragedy and nearly losing your school and life will do that. How are you doing, Kip?”
“He was polite to me, too,” Kip said. “Said I can be an apprentice again.”
Emily took his paw. “Why don’t we go up to the Great Hall, where it’s warm?”
“Too much talking,” he said, but he was very glad that she understood Betty’s absence. He let her lead him up the stairs to the large, open space, where at least it didn’t smell like otter.
Up at the front of the Hall, Adamson sat with Jacob Quarrel on two of the desk chairs; the others were scattered about in no particular formation. Master Brown and Master Warrington had been here when Kip had come down from Patris’s office, but now they were gone. Emily pulled two chairs near the fireplace, but Kip shook his head. “Back here,” he said, and walked to the two chairs farthest from the talkative elementals.
“All right.” Emily came and sat with him. When he didn’t talk, she took a breath. “Did you hear Adamson’s account?” she started, glaring up at the front of the room. “He made out like he planned our moves. It’s all the right facts but somehow he comes out the hero of it all. As if you or I couldn’t do the things we did without him guiding us. It’s insulting and I told Patris so.”
“I heard. He can say what he likes.”
“I told Patris my story and Jaeger confirmed it, for all the good that will do.”
Kip curled his tail around into his lap. The place where Farley had sawn through it still ached, even though Master Splint said it was as good as new. His mind went to Abel and the Calatians on the Isle, who did not have a healer to reattach their tails, and thence to other wounds that could not be healed.
“Kip, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He turned. Emily’s eyes brimmed with tears again. “If I’d gone directly to Master Splint.”
“No.” He put his paw on her hand and she squeezed back. “He said…” He tried to clear his throat, unsuccessfully. “He said there was so much blood lost…probably he’d lost some for weeks…he said he can’t replace blood. He can heal wounds, but…”
Emily nodded quickly. “I—please don’t hate me for it.”
“Hate you?” Kip saw for the first time that fear in her eyes, only now that she’d expressed it. “What—no. You did everything you could. If anything, I hate myself.”
“No.”
“If I’d been faster.”
“Kip.”
“If I hadn’t trusted Albright. I forgot about this but—when he sent you that first letter, he said he’d never been to Prince George’s. But he came to get me over Christmas. He was lying so often, and if I’d remembered—”
“Kip, stop.”
She grabbed his paw. He met her eyes and saw the same pain there that he felt. When he spoke again, that pain leaked out into his words. “He saved me before I could save him.” He didn’t have to say that he meant Coppy, which was good because he thought the name might bring him to tears. “But even that’s not true. I had so many chances to save him. He wanted to leave the Tower, wanted to go back to London. I kept pressuring him to stay. God, if I hadn’t come here in the first place he never would have—”
“Stop.” She squeezed his paw. “He made the decisions he wanted to make. While you were gone in London, he and Malcolm and I talked often about what we wanted to do. He always said he was amazed at how the world opened up to him now that he’d learned sorcery, all the things he could do, where back on the Isle he had a choice of hard labor or being a calyx, or both, or else he could leave and take a chance with no guarantee. He had possibilities, and you gave them to him.” She sucked in a breath. “And Windsor took them away. Not you, not me. Failing to prevent is not the same as causing.”
That last phrase sounded recited. Kip nodded, committing the words to memory. They would be helpful later, even if he could not appreciate them now. “How’s Malcolm?”
Emily blinked, and then let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Oh, that one. He’s—he’s Malcolm. Splint is trying some things, but…”
“I know,” Kip said. “He told me too.” And Kip had already known from Master Vendis that demon curses were not easily cured. Master Splint said that his skill lay in restoring the body to the shape it knew; demon curses made the body’s new shape the one it wished to return to.
“But he’s keeping his good humor. Did you go see him?”
“No. I should. I will.” He stared down at his knees. “What about…?”
“That one was still asleep.” Emily’s voice turned cold.
Kip nodded. “I might go back to London,” he said. “Work with Cott. Maybe see what I can find out about the glass beads.”
“But we know who attacked the college now.”
“Yes, but.” He could see the glass bead in his mind, the thing that used to be Saul. “Albright said there were other reasons that he killed Gugin. There might be more to learn. And there might be more people involved, too.”
“Have you heard anything about Albright?” Emily’s voice kept its chill.
Kip shook his head. “I don’t suppose he’s gone back to London, but…if it’s true that London planned all this, then maybe he has.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t go back to London.”
At the front of the room, Adamson left Quarrel and walked in their direction. Kip glanced up at the footsteps, but Emily didn’t follow his gaze. “I was thinking about something else. You know how they were talking about Albright altering Coppy’s memory?”
“Yes.” Another thing he should have picked up on: Coppy’s vague memory of his lessons with Windsor.
“Why do you think they didn’t just change our memories?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Nor do I.” Adamson raised a hand and stopped about ten feet away. His eyes traveled down to Emily’s hand around Kip’s paw, then back up. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Go away,” Emily said roughly without looking away from Kip. “I haven’t the strength to pretend to be polite.”
“I only wanted to say two things, but your remark has added a third, which is: how likely do you think it that Albright would have killed Windsor as soon as he’d destroyed the Tower?”
“They seemed very close,” Kip said. But Albright had pretended to be many things.
Adamson spread
his hands. “It’s what I would have done in his place. The fewer witnesses, the better. And then of course he would have killed all of us as well. Perhaps sparing you, Kip, for your power.”
“Say the rest of your piece and go.” Emily now stared over Kip’s shoulder at the far wall where the door to the basement was.
“Of course. The first thing is that I never properly thanked you, both of you, for saving my life. I don’t feel we would have survived much past the destruction of the Tower, no matter what Master Windsor promised.”
“You could have said that to Master Patris,” Emily snapped.
“The second thing,” Adamson went on, “is that I am really very sorry about the—”
“That’s fine.” Kip talked loudly over him. “Thank you. You can go.”
Adamson’s polite expression soured, but he bowed. He took a few steps back, half-turned, and then returned to Quarrel.
“I don’t suppose Jacob likes him any better than we do,” Emily said. “Have you ever known someone so ruthlessly determined to make sure you know just how intelligent he is?”
Kip shook his head. He held Emily’s hand more tightly. “Would you come up to see Malcolm with me?”
They walked up to Master Splint’s office and the room that served as the infirmary, where Kip had been bereft of magic. Malcolm lay in the cot closest to the window, while in one of the other cots a shape lay huddled with a blanket over him, only the tip of a narrow furred tail poking out. Kip ignored that cot and walked straight to Malcolm.
“Hello,” Malcolm said. “Don’t tell me. It’s Kip, isn’t it? The click of your claws sounds very unlike shoes, and I beg your pardon, but since you’ve not been using your perfumes, there’s a certain scent that announces your presence. It’s not unpleasant, mind you. I’m noticing smells more and more.”
His eyeless face disturbed Kip, but the cheer was so characteristic of Malcolm that Kip almost felt the face were a mask, that Malcolm could pull it off any moment and have his dancing green eyes back, that he kept this appearance up only because it amused him. “It didn’t seem worthwhile to put on perfume to live in a barn,” Kip said.
