Volume 1: Pickpocketing

by R. A. Consell

  “Kuro,” it read, “clean yourself up and get dressed. New socks and underwear are in the trunk as well. We will be leaving at 8:15 for the ferry to Avalon.

  “We cannot be late.”

  Kuro started to complain to the empty room about being ordered to clean himself up with no running water, but before he had a chance, a claw-foot tub strolled in and began to fill itself.

  It filled and emptied itself twice more as Kuro soaked and scrubbed free the dirt of the alley. It had been years since Phineas had bothered providing soap and hot water for Kuro to bathe in. His showers in the cold water from downspouts and rainstorms had never really cleaned him, so by the time he towelled off, the pristine white tub was stained with brown, and a stranger stared back at him in the mirror. Blemishes he’d thought were his own had been scrubbed free. He could run his fingers easily through his unruly heap of hair, and his dark eyes didn’t stick closed when he blinked. If not for his large ears and lack of height, he might have mistaken himself for another child.

  He struggled with the clothes he’d been left. He’d never had to deal with small buttons much, and the white shirt had an excess of them. It took three tries to get them all lined up correctly. The sweater vest was awkward and constricting, though he did manage to struggle into it. He didn’t even try to tie the tie, and the polished shoes and pressed pants were so pristine that they looked to belong in a display case rather than on his person. The whole outfit was stiff and heavy, and he feared he would ruin them just by moving around.

  Once dressed, he tried to put Graeae into the cat carrier. She was deeply unimpressed with being caged and complained loudly as Kuro encouraged, then coaxed, and finally shoved her into the plastic container. “Stop whining,” Kuro scolded. “They’re letting you come with me. You’ll probably get fed every day and be allowed to sleep inside.”

  Just as Kuro finished wrestling her into the case, Dubois appeared behind him. “Ready?” he asked with infuriating cheer.

  Kuro turned to face him, and Dubois’s false cheer drained from his face. Kuro’s new shirt had spots of blood and holes from his wrestling match with Graeae. Despite being clean, his unevenly brown skin made him look like he was still dirty, and his hair was an explosion frozen in time.

  Dubois buried his face in his hands. “You’re hopeless,” he said as he raised a hand to Kuro. He began to chant, and Kuro dove for cover, but the boy was too slow for the experienced Hound.

  There was a brilliant flash of yellow light, and the blast caught Kuro in the chest just before he rolled behind the tub. He curled up waiting for the pain, but nothing came. He looked down at his chest where the blast had connected and saw a ripple of gold washing through his clothes, stitching the tears back together and leaving clean cloth in its wake.

  “What are you doing?” Dubois demanded impatiently. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  He hauled Kuro to his feet, handed him the yowling cat carrier, and grabbed the large trunk. Taking Kuro by the hand, he started walking toward the solid wall of his cell. With a wave, Dubois created a door and pulled Kuro through, out into the bustle of the office. Dubois’s wolf, Garmr, joined them again in the hall. His presence raised Graeae’s despondent wails to panicked hisses. Kuro struggled to keep himself between the two so that Graeae couldn’t see the wolf.

  Dubois dragged Kuro through the halls of the citadel and out into the bright, clean air of upper Bytown. Kuro had never been to this part of the city. Detritus Lane passed through the Bytown Market, but the citadel stood on Embassy Hill, at the centre of the wealthiest part of the city. It was far from the market, and none of the filth and rabble of Detritus Lane polluted its boulevards.

  The street was lined with official buildings and embassies from the three kingdoms, all competing for grandeur. Blocky, copper-roofed limestone buildings in the Tirnanog style competed with the sweeping lines of marble and glass of the Acadians. The grand golden halls of the elves, with their steep roofs shingled with shields and central pillars made from living trees, gleamed in the sunlight. Broad sidewalks of artfully interlocking stone stretched along both sides of the boulevard, inviting people to walk, though nobody in the area was poor enough to bother. Instead they travelled in elegant luxury within enchanted automobiles and carriages.

  The towering obelisk that was the Granite Citadel of the Royal Guard seemed out of place in such a bright and verdant boulevard, and all the more imposing because of it.

  Kuro had little time to take in the view before Dubois pushed him into the back seat of a large black sedan. Dubois shoved Kuro’s things into the trunk of the car before climbing in beside him. Garmr took the front passenger seat.

  “To the Bay Ferry, sir?” asked the driver, working to hide his discomfort at sitting next to the large fanged beast.

  “Yes, please. Fast as you can,” Dubois replied as he settled into his soft leather seat. “We don’t want to be late.”

  Kuro had never travelled in a car, and it made him uncomfortable. It was too enclosed for the speed at which it moved. He couldn’t feel the wind on his face, and the car rocked and swayed in ways that turned his stomach. To make matters worse, this driver seemed to think that having a Hound in the car gave him licence to drive recklessly, or perhaps it was the wolf beside him making him want to shorten the trip as much as possible. Regardless, he weaved through the Bytown traffic, cutting off other cars and spooking horses as he whipped around corners with little respect for courtesy or basic physics. Too much of this and the driver would discover what Kuro had eaten for breakfast.

  To Kuro’s enormous relief, it took only minutes to leave Bytown behind and turn onto Zephyr Way, a fairy road that spanned the northern reaches of the continent. Zephyr was wide and open, straight and smooth. The roadway was entirely unlike Detritus Lane. The pathway of solid rock was uninterrupted, and few buildings broke the landscape of dark pine forests.

  They did not travel along Zephyr Way for long, but it was impossible for Kuro to tell how many hundreds of miles they had travelled on that magical highway. Distance was so warped along fairy roads that they could outpace the sun. The entire landscape passed by at the same speed; the distant hills shot past just as fast as the trees at the side of the road. They turned off at an exit sign that read “Avalon Ferry Port—6 miles.”

  The road to the ferry followed beside a wide river and was excessively well tended for such a single-purpose laneway. The pavement was fresh and smooth. The tall and lush trees that flanked it were spaced evenly and sculpted to form archways.

  The forest gave way to a rather less majestic parking lot, already busy with cars, carriages, sleds, magic carpets, and other students. At the mouth of the river stood a large dock at which was parked a multilevel ferry, large enough to hold the hundreds of Avalon students with room to spare. Despite the bright white paint and the name “Princess” across the bow of the boat in gleaming gold letters, the boat was neither beautiful nor elegant. It was sturdy and solid, with a sharp prow that looked made for ramming other ships and a hull so tall that the lowest deck sat nearly a story above the water. It looked almost like a warship painted to look friendly.

  Beyond the end of the dock lay the turbulent waters of Hudson Bay. Kuro could see the edge of the veil dancing back and forth at the waterline, being pushed about by the saltwater waves.

  Kuro had overheard people talking about the edge of the veil but had never seen it. The exits Kuro used to get from Detritus Lane to the Blandlands were places where the veil between worlds was thin and torn, making it easy to pass through. Here, though, the veil was thick and strong, pressing up against the shore like a billowing and shimmering curtain of silk.

  Salt and magic do not mix. Even a circle of table salt on the ground can disrupt a spell or stop some creatures from entering or leaving. No magic at all can cross an expanse of saltwater like an ocean. Someone could exit the veil along any saltwater coast just by walking through it into the water. Once outside, however,
they would be stuck in the Blandlands until they could find a way back in, usually through the mouth of a river, where the mixing of the waters thinned the veil.

  The school was on an island far out in the Hudson Bay, so it wasn’t possible to get there without leaving the fey realm for the journey across open and often violent waters. That kept the school and students safe from anyone looking to do them harm, and the world safe from the inept fumbling of those learning the magical arts. It also contained the students. The only ways off the island were a ferry that ran only a few times a year or a very long and cold swim without the benefits of magic. Avalon was a prison, though from the excitement of the children swarming the dock, Kuro thought he might be the only one who knew it.

  As the car pulled to a stop, Dubois mumbled something that sounded Elvish and performed a motion like peeling off a tight dress. A disguise unfurled over him like a silk sheet and settled into place. Dubois was gone, replaced by a man in jeans and a flannel shirt, with a big bushy beard and a receding hairline. The disguise was convincing, though it did not hide his golden eyes or the scar in his ear. “I assume you’d rather not be dropped off by the commander of the Hounds for your first day, am I right?” The man that had been Dubois grinned, looking very pleased with himself as he pulled a toque on over his head to cover his telltale ear scar.

  Dubois wasn’t wrong. If Kuro was to be stuck at Avalon, it would be nice if people didn’t know he’d been escorted there by police. The closest he could bring himself to thanking Dubois, though, was to grunt in agreement before sliding out of the car.

  Dubois carried Graeae in one hand and had the other on Kuro’s shoulder as they made their way through to the ferry, holding him firmly in case he ran. Kuro’s already poor mood fouled more deeply as he passed happy families giving tearful goodbyes and excited encouragement to their children.

  “I love dock day.” Dubois beamed. “Never changes. The sea breeze, the sounds, the excitement.”

  The crowds, the smell, the noise, Kuro thought.

  Dubois took Kuro’s shoulder and pushed him on towards the ferry. The Hound stopped a couple of times and almost called out to people he knew as though he kept forgetting he was in disguise.

  Kuro also saw someone he knew. He spotted the unmistakable collection of tumbling golden locks and magically enhanced grace of Evelyn, the rich girl from the shoe store.

  Her uniform was brand new and looked like it had been custom tailored. Her white blouse practically glowed under a crisp grey cardigan, and she could fix her hair in the shine on her magical shoes if it ever one of her flawless ringlets fell out of place. Her perfectly pressed plaid skirt bounced and twirled with her as she greeted other students. She behaved as if they were fortunate to have the chance to meet her, waving and smiling like some sort of celebrity. She left the loading of her several suitcases to an exhausted porter.

  Kuro had just started to feel like Avalon wasn’t going to be so bad, but the reminder that he’d be sharing it with her spoiled that hope entirely. Kuro scowled, grabbed his trunk, and trudged toward the ferry.

  Dubois boarded the ferry with Kuro, acting jovial and excited. He pointed at the scenery and beamed foolishly, all the while keeping a strong hand on Kuro’s shoulder. He directed him to the upper deck, which was empty, for the moment. Once they were alone, Dubois dropped his jovial uncle act. “Listen, Kuro,” he said. “You stay up here, in sight of the ferry captain, for the whole ride. We’ll be watching. Step out of line and you’ll have a Hound on your heels before you can blink. Got it?”

  Kuro nodded sullenly.

  “Good. You’re only going to get one chance at Avalon, so don’t mess this up on yourself and go running away or stealing things. And . . . try to enjoy it. It’s great there, really. Best years of my life.” Dubois mussed Kuro’s hair in a patronizingly paternal way.

  Kuro shook off Dubois’s empty comforts. He doubted that his time would be much like the Hound’s had been. It seemed unlikely that Sir Talen Dubois, knight commander of the Hounds, had started his career as a prisoner of the state. The only optimism Kuro had in reserve was that nobody would recognize him for what he was, at least for a while.

  Dubois turned to leave, but Kuro stopped him with a shout. “Where are you going with Graeae?”

  The Hound still had the cat in her carrier with him. “Don’t worry,” he said with a wolfish grin. “She’s going to a good home.”

  “She’s not coming with me?” Kuro didn’t know whether to attack the Hound or cry.

  “Of course not,” Dubois waved Kuro off dismissively. “There are no pets on Avalon. Besides, with all the other students’ familiars around, she’d lose her tiny mind.”

  Dubois gave Kuro no opportunity to argue. He turned sharply and marched below deck, cat carrier in hand. He had tricked Kuro into cooperating by keeping Graeae around. Now that Kuro was trapped on a one-way trip to a prison island, Dubois was keeping Graeae as a hostage to keep the boy obedient.

  Kuro fumed. He saw Dubois emerge from the ship and return to the docks, where he stood watching, holding Graeae imprisoned in the carrier and grinning victoriously. Kuro looked away from the Hound, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing his tears.

  Kuro turned his gaze to watch the water beyond the veil, hoping the novelty of it would distract him from his misery. He’d pretty much only ever seen cities and had never been out on open water. He decided quickly that he didn’t like it. It looked cold, and the waves were big enough to swallow him whole should he fall in, which seemed likely given that he wasn’t allowed to leave the open deck.

  He threw himself onto a bench and dug around in his trunk for something to block the chill of the early autumn breeze off the bay.

  Kuro started to consider how much Dubois already knew. Probably everything, he imagined. He wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the citadel so easily if Dubois had thought he had any information worth torturing out of him. Perhaps he was being held as a hostage for Phineas in the same way Graeae was being held from him. It amused him a little to think of Dubois trying to level threats against his master using Kuro as leverage. If that was Dubois’s plan, he would be sorely disappointed when he found out just how little Phineas cared for Kuro. It did worry Kuro, though, to think what might become of him and Graeae if their value to Dubois ran out.

  Kuro wasn’t alone for long. A girl around his age was marched up on deck by an old woman. Kuro couldn’t see the girl’s expression well; her dark skin made her little more than a silhouette against the morning sun. But her manner spoke volumes. She crept hesitantly onto deck, clutching a cross-shaped charm on her necklace, and took a great deal of coaxing from her minder to get settled into a bench across the deck from Kuro. She looked around with wide eyes, seeming to bounce between wonder and terror with every second.

  Kuro observed the pair with some interest, doing his best to remain unnoticed. The old woman spoke in hushed tones and with a familiar authority. Kuro couldn’t understand the conversation, partly because it was too quiet and partly because it was in French, but the form was familiar. He’d had the same conversation just minutes ago with Dubois. Perhaps his situation was not entirely unique.

  The old woman left, moving with far more strength and grace than her elderly form should allow. Definitely a Hound, Kuro concluded. He locked eyes with the girl. Her fearful glance changed into an intimidating glare as they stared silently at each other. Her eyes dared him to say something, threatening to knock him senseless if he did. He recognized the stance from the laneway—not from people, but from the animals. She reminded him of a cornered raccoon, full of a ferocity born of fear.

  Kuro tried to express that he was in the same situation, that he was just as stuck here as she was and posed her no threat, but he could muster no words to pass his lips. He shrank under her dangerous gaze.

  The moment was shattered by someone’s eager cry. “Dad, come look at this!” Another girl was standing in the doorway at the top
of the stairs, grinning so broadly it looked like the top of her head was unzipping. “This is amazing! Oh! You can see the veil whooshing about. The water just goes on forever, doesn’t it? And there’s a bench right at the front. This is perfect. I’m going to sit here.”

  She was thin and lanky and at least a head taller than Kuro. Her wiry dirty-blond hair was rapidly escaping the short braids it had been put into. She wore the school’s uniform cardigan and skirt, but the skirt was worn over a pair of jeans, and the cardigan had been tied roughly around her waist, likely stretching it irreparably.

  “Hurry up, Dad!” she shouted excitedly down the stairs behind her. “I found a good seat.”

  She loped excitedly up to Kuro, moving like she didn’t know where her limbs ended, and with an enthusiasm that threatened to send her toppling over the rails. “Hello, can I sit here?”

  Kuro was about to return her greeting, but the girl didn’t give him the chance. “Are you a first year too? This is the very best seat. I’ve seen them all now. They’re mostly the same, but this is way better than inside. It has a better view and isn’t all full of older students. Why is it so empty up here? This is way better than inside. You can’t see anything from in there. You picked the best spot. Can I sit here? Do you mind?”

  Kuro almost had a chance to nod before the girl was talking again, barely taking time to breathe. “Great, I’ll get my stuff. I’m Charlotte, by the way, Charlotte Cook, but everyone calls me Charlie. Well, my dad does, but that’s pretty much everyone.”

  At that moment a broad-shouldered man appeared at the top of the stairs, hauling a large hockey bag. “Hey Dad!” Charlie shouted. “I’m over here. I found a seat!”

  “Are you sure you want to be out here?” the man said. “Won’t you get cold?”

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just grab me my jacket.”

  The next few minutes took an eternity to pass. Charlie’s father fussed over her, forcing her to wear a coat and wrapping her in a blanket. He hugged her, and they both teared up as they shared painfully sincere farewells. Kuro did his best not to be upset about the affection she was getting, and the other girl on deck was decidedly looking the other direction.