The Revolution and the Fox

by Tim Susman

“Yes, sir,” they chorused. Both Charity and Richard sat very still, but Jorey couldn’t keep from kicking his legs, and his bushy tail kept twitching.

  “All right. Now, you’ve all got your specialty, so I want you to go find an exhibit relating to your specialty from another college, study it, take notes, and make a report to me on it. One for each of the first two days. Understood?” They nodded. “On the third day, I want you to find an exhibit relating to another area of magic, one that isn’t yours, study it, and write a report.”

  “Sir?” Jorey raised a paw. “Are the reports to be written while we’re here?”

  “No. You’ll have a week to write them once we return. So take good notes.”

  Charity raised a hand. “May we write about the same exhibits? I mean, there will be some that fit the first two days for one of us and the third for another.”

  “Yes, excellent,” Malcolm said. “Aye, if you like, you may write about the same one. You may discuss it, but I want you to take your own notes.”

  Jorey raised his paw again. “Sir, what if the sorcerers won’t talk to me or Charity?”

  “Explain politely that you are a student of sorcery at the Lutris School. If you need to talk to someone and they refuse, come get one of us.”

  They had no more questions and were about to be dismissed to go to bed when Kip thought of something. “If any of you encounter a man named Victor Adamson, of King’s College probably, do not speak to him, and come report it to one of us immediately.”

  “And be on your guard,” Malcolm added. “Don’t let another sorcerer touch you. That’s how spiritual sorcerers cast spells on you.”

  “Yes, sir,” they chorused, eyes wide.

  “Are we going to be taught spiritual sorcery?” Richard asked.

  “We’re hoping to find an instructor to take on that task,” Kip said. “At least the basics—learning to defend yourself and so on.”

  Though they told the students to sleep, none of the four adults were very tired, and Emily thought the college could afford to buy them each one drink, so Kip, Alice, and Malcolm followed her downstairs to the hotel’s bar. The ravens (save for Corvi, who always stayed with Malcolm) remained behind in the room with a small basin of water, perched by the open windows so they could come and go as they pleased.

  “I haven’t seen your classes in a while,” Emily told Malcolm as they walked. “You’ve gotten even better at teaching.”

  “Ah, it’s kind of you to say.” He smiled. “But what is teaching but talking, and talking I’ve been doing all my life.”

  “It’s not just talking,” Alice said. “You have a good sense for how to get people to pay attention to the right things. I wouldn’t have thought to ask them to look at exhibits outside their specialty.”

  “Me da used to say, if a man isn’t well-rounded then he’s well flat, and I’ve always thought that a wise thing to keep in mind. Haven’t we all benefited from learning in places we never might have thought?”

  “True enough,” Kip said. “But also they all really like you.”

  “Well, that’s easy.” Malcolm turned to smile. “I’m quite affable by nature, and my disability instantly elicits sympathy, so everyone is well-disposed to me on first meeting and I’ve a good touch for not making them feel otherwise as time goes on. With my classes, I try to remember the teachers I liked best and learned from best, remember what they said and how they acted, and do the best I can to imitate them.”

  “You’re doing a lovely job,” Emily said, “and I’m saying that as the headmistress.”

  “Oh aye?” They’d reached the foot of the stairs, where Malcolm stood aside so that Emily could walk through first. “And what does Emily Carswell say of it?”

  Emily stopped on the other side until Malcolm had come through and then threaded her arm in between his arm and his side. “She says you’re lovely as well.”

  3

  Dierenpark

  Over drinks—a warm milk for Emily, a more exotic cocoa for the foxes and Malcolm—they discussed their own responsibilities for the following days. Emily had made a list of wealthy nobles who might be willing to sponsor the school, and she and Kip had made a list of questions for him to ask healers who might be interested in coming to teach at the Lutris School.

  “You’re not bad at this administration job, come to that,” Malcolm said with a smile. “What’s my homework?”

  “And mine?” Alice asked.

  “Malcolm, you help Kip in his search and be available if the students need you. Alice, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to accompany me.”

  “Of course.” Alice rested her paw on Kip’s.

  “As one of the heroes of the American War, you’ll be very helpful. Be ready to tell your stories of the battles.”

  “Kip has better stories,” Alice said.

  “Not true,” Kip protested.

  “Kip needs to talk to healers, and any other interesting sorcerers who might be willing to teach Calatians.” Emily smiled at both of them. “Kip’s reputation as the sorcerer who destroyed the Road—”

  Kip let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes with a paw. Emily went on. “Though we all know the truth of it, Kip’s reputation is great enough that he needn’t be present. Having another sorcerer there will add to the strength of our pitch.”

  “And I’d much rather not have to tell that story again.” Kip raised his head. “Nobody wants to hear any of the other ones.”

  “All right. I can tell the story of the Thames escape. After all, Kip slept through part of that.” Alice smiled and put on an earnest tone. “‘You know about the destruction of the Road, but did you know that there was an entire adventure simply to get to that point?’”

  “Excellent.” Emily sipped her milk. “Even just one wealthy patron could change our fortunes substantially.”

  “Cheers,” Kip said, and lifted his cup.

  The cocoa had a nice earthy sweetness to it that coated his palate and built in his nostrils before subsiding after each sip. Kip liked it and Alice seemed to as well; though it was strong, it wasn’t overwhelming, even though it had not been diluted for foxes.

  When they’d finished their drinks and the attendant conversation, they got up to leave. Kip turned and came face to face with the manager who’d greeted them when they arrived. “Begging your pardon, sir, but would you be Master Kip Penfold?”

  “Aye,” Kip said. Alice took his arm and perked her ears attentively as well.

  The manager produced an envelope and held it out. “A gentleman brought this and was most insistent that we relay it to you at the earliest possible opportunity.”

  Kip took the envelope. “A gentleman?” Alice asked.

  The manager nodded. “A Calatian of the rabbit persuasion.”

  The letter inside the envelope, a single sheet of paper, bore writing in a familiar hand. Kip didn’t need to read the signature before he said, “It’s from Charles Cotton.” To the manager, he said, “Did the gentleman wait?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Thank you for finding me so quickly.” Remembering the bellhop waiting for a tip, Kip leaned over to Alice, who had charge of all their money. “Have you, er…” Ten cents seemed too little for the manager, but a whole dollar? “Have we any coin?”

  “Sir.” The manager held up a hand as Alice dug into her purse. “There’s no need.” But he smiled, and it seemed to Kip to be a genuine smile. “We are most grateful for the service you have provided to our country.” He bowed and then, as though flustered by his own display of emotion, hurried back to the lobby.

  Malcolm and Emily joined them as Kip read the letter. “Dear Kip,” he read aloud, “Please excuse the forward nature of this letter. I learned that the visitors from America would be staying at the Drijvende Bloem, and so I delivered the letter here. I do hope that tonight, if possible, you will be able to come visit Dierenpark again. It has been far too long since your last visit and I would be delighted to show you the progress we’ve made he
re before the Exposition takes all your time and attention. Should you receive this letter in time, please come to The Glade at any time before midnight and I will meet you there. Very sincerely yours, Charles Cotton.”

  “What’s ‘The Glade’?” Alice asked.

  “A public house in Dierenpark; that’s the Calatian neighborhood.”

  “Oh! Can we go?” Alice rested a paw on Kip’s wrist.

  “It would be rude not to,” Emily said.

  “I suppose so.” Kip had hoped to put off seeing the Calatians until he’d settled a bit, but Charles was his closest friend here, and keeping their friendship in good order was important. Besides, he could feel the rabbit’s impatience behind the restrained wording of the letter, and the prospect of seeing Charles again did lift his spirits. “What time is it now?”

  “Just past ten-thirty,” Emily pointed to a showy gilded clock in the hotel lobby.

  “Well, it’s only fifteen minutes to walk there, as I recall. My knowledge of Amsterdam is not exhaustive, though.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind some company,” Malcolm put in, “I can have Dar guide us.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get a good night’s sleep?” Emily asked Malcolm. “After all, there’s the address to open the Exposition in the morning.”

  “And I’m sure you’ll give us all a splendid report on it.” Malcolm smiled. “A little joke, there. I’ll be back with Kip before the clock’s struck one, and sure, isn’t it just going on dinnertime by the clock we woke to this morning? I’d lie awake until one in the morning anyway.”

  Emily gave a theatrical sigh. “Very well, I suppose only one of us need be responsible.”

  “Fostering good relationships with the Calatians—” Kip said.

  Emily laughed, interrupting. “I mean of me and Malcolm. Of course you must go, and Alice too. Find us some more students.”

  “To that end,” Malcolm said, “what would you say to bringing Jorey? Provided he’s not yet asleep.”

  Kip nodded. “It would be good for him, and for them.”

  Jorey was not asleep, it turned out, and was eager to meet more Calatians. “Richard wanted to come too,” the squirrel informed them in the lobby, “but Malcolm said that one human was enough. How many Calatians live in Amsterdam?”

  “Somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred and fifty,” Kip told him, ushering the squirrel to follow Malcolm and Alice outside. “I only brought the first community over two years ago and I know more have arrived since then.”

  Daravont, Malcolm’s demon, knew Amsterdam no better than Kip did but, unlike the fox, was able to fly forward invisibly and find The Glade in relation to where they were. Besides being a guide, the demon whispered to Malcolm where people lurked in the shadows, possibly meaning them harm, and guided them around those spots. Their ravens remained on their shoulders, hunched against the mist and shadows around them.

  Kip kept Jorey close to himself so he could send the squirrel home at the first sign of trouble—not that he was particularly worried about cutpurses, nor even cutthroats for that matter. Sorcery could handle even the worst of them, and no mere human with a knife could scare Kip after the things he’d faced. But he did not wish to draw any extra attention to himself, and getting into a street fight, however lopsided, would certainly do that.

  Though Kip could see well enough in the monochromatic moonlight, he preferred to explore the streets by the odors that presented themselves to his nose. At night, the smell of the harbor carried over that of the flowers, but Daravont led them away from that miasma. The smells of yeast and bread signaled a street of bakers, and fermented yeast on the next street a series of public-houses. (These also announced themselves via the muted roar of conversation and laughter emanating from the brightly lit windows.)

  Besides these smells, there were smells of meat and of pastries, of clothing and simple machinery, and people, so many people, more than Kip could distinguish. Odors flitted through his nose like stars in the sky, each one distinct and then immediately lost among the others. He’d walked through streets in Boston and New York, but only London’s crowded neighborhoods could compare to this.

  Someday, Kip thought, there will be a city of Calatians this crowded. Street after street of narrow houses, thousands of Calatians in one place, and not for a strategic reason.

  (There was a movement to name the inlet where he’d taken thousands of Calatians during the war, “Calatian Bay,” but the movement was complicated by the fact that Australia was still a British holding and the British were not particularly inclined to commemorate the single event that had most contributed to their loss.)

  Finally they came to a crossroads where a large sign proclaimed “Welkom bij Dierenpark.” Jorey said, “Dierenpark,” as they walked past the sign. “That’s a pretty name. Do you know what it means?”

  “It means, ‘zoo,’” Kip said, and Jorey fell quiet.

  From here, he knew the way: one street in and a right-hand turn. Alice walked quietly at his side, Malcolm a little behind. The scent here changed; Alice caught it too. Rather than humans, there was rabbit, badger, weasel, mouse, and fox. There were still scents of clothing and of food shops, less meat and machinery and more bread and pastries and vegetables.

  And there was the smell of ale, and there was the sound of conversation and laughter. The windows of The Glade weren’t brightly lit, because many Calatians saw well at night, but they stood out from the rest of the darkened street as though they’d had a half-dozen lanterns blazing behind the glass.

  Ash fluttered on his shoulder as they walked in, muttering annoyance at the light and sound. It took Kip a moment to make details out of the wash of brightness that his eyes saw at first, and in those seconds the conversation dipped and muted. He thought that it was because he and Alice had walked in, strangers, and then he heard someone say, “What’s the furless doing here?”

  “Now, now, now!” That cheerful voice he recognized. Charles Cotton bounded up to the three of them. “It’s only been two years; can you not recognize the sorcerer O’Brien, the one who stood watch over us while we waited for his friend…”

  He paused dramatically. Kip’s adjusted eyes now saw almost the entire clientele of the public house staring at them. Though a small community, there was only one public house, so every table was occupied, nearly thirty people all told. “Master Kip Penfold,” Charles said in a ringing voice, “to win the war for us!”

  A pumped fist concluded this declaration, and the audience responded with a great cheer, and with even more excitement than Charles may have intended. Several of them came up out of their seats to greet Kip and Alice and even Malcolm.

  But there were those, Kip noted, who turned away, and some of those muttered to each other. Then he occupied himself with the people who did want to greet him, and he shook paws and smiled. Alice, like Kip, had had a good deal of practice being an object of interest, and she greeted people as much as he did.

  Jorey provided some chatter behind them. “Master Penfold’s wonderful,” he said, and, “I’m one of his students, you know,” and other things in a similar vein. He continued even when these statements went mostly unheeded by the Calatians seeking to meet Kip and Alice and Malcolm.

  “Come, come,” Charles cried, and guided them over to a table against one of the walls. Someone at one of the tables they passed said, “Go, go,” too faintly for Kip to identify the voice; he did not want to show them it had bothered him, so he didn’t even turn around to see who was at the table. He knew there were those who disliked him for bringing them to Amsterdam. There was nothing he could do about it.

  “I have been wondering,” Kip said, “how you mean to show us Dierenpark this late at night. Surely all your shops and schools are closed?”

  “They are.” Charles stopped and gestured to the table, where sat another fox, two mice, a badger, and a weasel. “But the people who have made them the successes they are sit here before you. Letitia Trewel you know.”
>
  This was one of the mice, a dormouse. Kip had met her two years ago when he had to tell her of the death of her brother Thomas at the Battle of the Road. “Of course,” he said. She smiled back at him. At the time, she hadn’t held him responsible for Thomas’s death, though he felt acutely that he could have saved him, and he was glad that time had not altered her disposition.

  “And the rest of them are,” he pointed around in quick succession. “Martin Canno, Donna Lyle, Esau Brock, and Lifkin Quick.” These were the fox, the other dormouse, the badger, and the weasel, in that order.

  Each of them murmured a greeting as the four sat down. Kip repeated the names to himself to try to impress them into his mind. While he was doing that, Malcolm said, “And the one of us you haven’t met yet is Jorey Birch, one of our students at the new school.”

  “Thank you so much for inviting me—I mean, us—well, you invited Master Penfold and he allowed me to come along—”

  Alice broke in with a smile. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you all. As we build our town in Peachtree, I wonder how you all are faring in building your community here.”

  Martin Canno, the other fox, set his ears half-back. “It’s a rather different enterprise. We here are not creating a new community out of whole cloth. We have moved into houses from which human occupants were evicted, and we are trying to build relationships in the place of that damage.”

  “We had to evict human residents too,” Kip said. “Well, not ‘evict,’ but they were granted land elsewhere and I wouldn’t think they would want to live on land they didn’t own anymore. But many of them weren’t happy to leave. A few still refuse.”

  “But the people left behind.” Martin turned to Kip. “You’re all Calatians, there in East Georgia.”

  “And you all got to bring your families with you.” This was Lifkin the weasel.

  “I thought—” Alice turned to Kip and then back to the table. “You were supposed to be allowed to bring your families.”

  “Immediate families,” the weasel said. “Not my brother and his children, not my aunt nor my cousins.”