by Tim Susman
“We only had room—” Kip started.
“Aye, I know the reasoning. I’m not blaming you.” Nearby grumbling; Kip turned his ears away from it. “Simply pointing out the differences between our situations.”
“I’m sorry,” Alice said.
“I left my family too,” Jorey piped up. “I’m from London but I moved to Peachtree to be a student.”
“You wouldn’t have expected your parents to come, would you?” Lifkin asked.
Jorey flicked his ears back. “They live in a dirty house with six other squirrels,” he said. “I’d have liked them to come. But there wasn’t room. Maybe next year, I’m told. Once I learn to translocate I’ll go see them more often.”
Letitia Trewel, closest to Alice, reached out a paw. “I’d love to visit Peachtree someday,” she said. “But when we talk about what we’ve done here, it’s important you understand what surrounds us. The school, for example. Back on the Isle, I had my pick of helpers, people to take care of the children as well as help with the lessons. Here I only have one helper, and often we have to take care of the children after school when their parents are working. But we’ve held regular classes for the last six months, and last month a Dutch teacher came to observe and help us.”
“So having the humans around isn’t always a bad thing?” Kip asked.
“Not always.” Esau Brock grinned widely. “I’ve taken a good deal of inspiration from the bakeries here.” He patted his belly. “As you can see. The bakers, at least, are pleased to teach me a few new tricks. Many of the people understand that our presence here elevates their country into the top tier of world powers again and are grateful for that.”
“Aye,” Lifkin said. “And we’re not having disappearances like back in London.”
“What?” Kip and Alice said it at the same time, ears standing straight upright.
“I’d have thought you’d have heard about it.” The weasel gestured with a paw. “My brother told me two healthy fellows have disappeared in the last two months.”
Malcolm, too, had leaned forward with interest. “The British aren’t fighting a war they haven’t told us about, are they?”
“We wouldn’t know if they did,” Alice pointed out.
“They weren’t calyxes that disappeared,” Lifkin said.
“Ah.” Malcolm rested his elbows on the table. “Kip, hasn’t Abel mentioned it?”
Kip shook his head. “Well—he did say that people were worried about the safety of the calyxes, but not why, and…” And that had been Grinda, and she was always worried about sorcerers, and had Kip discounted her worries because of that? He bit his lip. “We should have been told.”
“Perhaps they don’t wish to call on you to solve any more of their problems,” Lifkin said.
“Lif,” Charles said reprovingly.
“No, that’s fair.” Kip sighed. “It’s not mine to worry about.”
Malcolm elbowed him. “Not that that’s ever stopped this fellow in the past.”
“We’ve plenty to worry about,” Alice said, but her voice was uncertain. Below the table, her paw touched Kip, a reassurance that the matter was not closed. “But if there is anything we can do to help, should you hear…”
“Or for you here,” Kip added. “Our purpose in coming was to see what you’ve accomplished, and I did not wish to assume you needed anything from us, but it’s freely offered if you do.”
“I should like to take the cubs we teach to Peachtree.” Letitia looked around. “For a visit, to show them more of the world. Is that something you can do?”
“Of course,” Alice said. “It’s not something I can do easily, but Emily specializes in it and Kip and Malcolm can each do some as well.”
“And Master Argent,” Kip said.
“And Charity,” Jorey reminded them. “She hasn’t actually translocated yet, but she will.”
“One of our other students,” Kip clarified. “How many cubs?”
“Only ten.”
“Then we could take them in three trips, perhaps four. It would not be a great imposition.”
Lifkin spoke up. “Could you also bring some of us back to London from time to time?”
“Have you not asked the masters at the college here?” Malcolm asked.
“Didn’t know we could.” The weasel sat back. “They’re not Calatians.”
“I’ll speak to them,” Kip said. “It’s not an unreasonable request.”
The conversation turned to the other shops: Lifkin was a tailor and Donna Lyle, the quiet mouse, a carpenter. She’d learned from her father and here in Amsterdam had opened her own shop because there were no others with the skill. Surprisingly, she did a good deal of business with the humans of Amsterdam. “They think I’m a man,” she said with a laugh. “So I deepen my voice a touch when they come in.”
Alice laughed at this. “There are some advantages to being a Calatian, I dare say.”
Kip kept his ears perked, but if there were more abusive comments directed his way, he did not hear them, and eventually he relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the conversation. But the disappearances from the Isle weighed on his mind even after he, Alice, Malcolm, and Jorey had taken their leave and returned to the hotel.
4
Trippenhuis
“I did warn you.” Emily couldn’t keep the exasperation from her tone.
Kip yawned again, and Alice rubbed her eyes. Malcolm appeared as awake as he ever did, except when he too stifled a yawn. “Woke too early,” he grumbled. “Surely there must be a spell to help one get a reasonable night’s sleep?”
“That’d be a healer’s spell,” Emily said, “and God willing, Kip won’t be too tired to find us someone who can cast it.”
“I’m fi-ine,” Kip insisted, his assurance belied by the yawn that interrupted it. “Once we get there, I’ll find the energy.”
“What did you all talk about last night, anyway?” Emily set a quick pace as they left the hotel to walk along the street toward Trippenhuis, the palatial hall where the Exposition was held. Malcolm and Alice trailed behind them, and their students brought up the rear of their little party, Jorey yawning as much as Kip and Alice were.
“The Calatian community in Amsterdam. There are some people still angry with me for the arrangement, but Charles and his friends are doing well. Oh,” he remembered, “and there have been Calatians disappearing in London.”
Emily’s frown deepened. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Nor do I. Charles didn’t think much of it, but it worries me.”
“Didn’t Abel tell you about it?”
“Not all of it,” Kip hedged. “Of course, they said that there were two in the last two months, and he was last there a week ago, so he might not have known how many there were. And he and Charles have different sources.”
They strode on in silence, and Emily’s mouth tightened. “Do you think…”
“Victor? He'd be my first thought.”
“And Albright did say that thing about his ‘experiments.’ Oh, Kip.” Despair crept into her face. “Picking on us is one thing, but if he’s harming Calatians…”
“He’s always harming Calatians one way or another.”
“If he’s here,” Emily said, “maybe I will send him to the middle of the ocean.”
“Have you been to the middle of the ocean?” Kip asked.
“Sleek has.” Emily touched the raven on her shoulder.
“Whyever for?”
She raised her eyebrows. “In case I want to send someone there. Do try to keep up.”
They turned a corner and came in sight of the great mansion Trippenhuis seated neatly between two other large houses. Built after the classical style, the broad face of it featured flat reliefs mimicking great wide columns between which four stories of windows looked out. Atop the columns, a small cornice rose above the roofs of the abutting buildings, setting Trippenhuis apart from them in height as well as design.
At street level, two s
ets of double doors stood open, and at each, two liveried footmen greeted the stream of people and took their names. Emily led the small group to the nearer doors and produced a small sheaf of papers from the purse she carried.
Even before they met with the footmen, music from inside reached Kip’s ears, a light melody on strings. “I don’t know this music,” Kip heard behind him, and half-turned to see Richard tilting his head, trying to catch the tune. “Maybe when we get inside.”
“How could you know the music?” Jorey asked absently, tail twitching as he tried to see past the footmen.
“I know most of the famous works of European composers,” Richard said.
Malcolm turned his head. “It’s likely a Dutch composer. When you get inside, you’ll be able to hear it better.”
Kip had not learned any of the composers beyond some Bach and Beethoven, whom he’d thought might be Dutch because of the name. But Richard wrinkled his brow and said, “I don’t think I know any Dutch composers,” and Richard certainly knew Beethoven if Kip did, so he kept quiet. Before he turned back to where Emily was handing their invitations to the footman, he caught Charity’s eye. When she saw this, she rolled her eyes at Richard, and although Kip wanted their students to support each other, he gave her a smile anyway. And then he lifted his nose at a slight tingle, the kind that he felt when a demon was nearby. Not a powerful one, but certainly a demon.
“Come on,” Emily said, “let’s not linger in the doorway.”
She ushered all of them into the first room, where the students gawked at the beautifully painted frescoes and elegant velvet drapes and Kip tried not to. The tingle grew briefly stronger and then faded as he entered the building. A demon watching the doors, then; that made sense.
“Gather round,” Malcolm said, but before they could all turn their attention to him, a purple-robed apprentice joined them.
“Hallo,” he said in Dutch-accented English, and held out a piece of paper. “Would you like a map to the Exposition?”
“Yes, please.” Malcolm’s raven turned to see the paper, and Malcolm’s hand found it a moment later.
“I can explain the map, if you please.”
“That would be delightful, thank you.”
The young man took the map back, preoccupied enough that he didn’t notice Malcolm’s face. “Now, here’s the ground floor, where we are right now. To the back you’ll find the Salon, where there are a number of tables for visitors to enjoy refreshments and speak to each other. The stairs to the first and second floors are also located from this room.” His finger moved along the map. “Beyond the Salon on this floor is the First Exposition Hall, the largest room in the Exposition. Here is where the special events will take place. Tomorrow, Master van Dijk will perform a feat of sorcery that has never been done in an Exposition before!”
Alice half-turned, and Kip put a paw on her shoulder. The students similarly seemed intrigued by this pronouncement, but remained silent. The apprentice, oblivious, went on. “On the first story, you will find exhibitions from European countries. Holland, Spain, France, England, Prussia, and Russia have all sent sorcerers.”
“Whom did England send?” Kip asked before he could help himself.
The apprentice glanced up. “I’m afraid I haven’t memorized all the names,” he said. “But there is a Master Woodhall from England scheduled to perform a feat at the First Exhibition Hall on Wednesday.”
“I don’t know him,” Kip said in response to Emily’s look.
“Nor do I.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Please, do go on.”
“Yes, very good.” The apprentice pointed. “On the second story you will find sorcerers from outside Europe. Persia, India, China, Indonesia, and Egypt have all sent sorcerers to the Exposition.”
“Now there’s a thing,” Malcolm said. “I’ll have to go talk to those good fellows.”
For the first time, the apprentice looked at Malcolm directly. To his credit, he only flinched, and his words came out smoothly. “They have some very interesting sorcery,” he said, “though I have not had the chance to explore it fully.”
Malcolm took the map back with a smile. “I hope you get the opportunity,” he said. “And we appreciate the work you’re doing to help others find their ways.”
“Yes, of course.” The apprentice bowed. “Enjoy the Exposition.” And he hurried off without another word.
“What a helpful chap,” Malcolm said. “Eh, Corvi?”
His raven clacked its beak in amusement. “All right,” he told the students. “You lot, first floor and then second floor. I’ll meet you here in the Salon around lunchtime and you’ll tell me what exhibits you’re going to write about.”
“Yes, sir,” they chorused, and set off for the Salon.
“Right.” Malcolm held out the map. “I think I have a clear picture of where to go. Anyone else want this?”
“I’ll take it if nobody else will.” Alice reached out, and Malcolm gave it to her.
“Alice, why don’t you and I start in the Salon?” Emily said. “I’ve arranged some meetings, but not until this afternoon. We might as well take this opportunity to be seen.”
“I’ll go to the second floor with you,” Kip said to Malcolm. “I’d like to see the sorcerers from outside Europe.”
“Don’t forget why we’re here,” Emily said to Kip.
“The British sorcerers aren’t likely to want to come to America,” he said, “and we’ll ask the Dutch headmaster directly, and the Spanish and French at least are convinced that they are already part of a great nation. They are likely here to take the measure of potential enemies more than for the joy of exploration. Whereas any sorcerers who voyaged here from China or India most likely did so out of curiosity. They may be more open to joining a frontier school.”
“I wasn’t questioning the order in which you do your task.” Emily smiled. “Simply reminding you of it. Don’t get lost staring at the fancy sorcery from China and trying to figure out how it works.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Malcolm said. “Or Corvi will, at any rate.”
Emily’s smile broadened. “I can’t imagine what trouble the two of you might get into. All right, I know you know what our mission is here, and what’s at stake.”
“Of course we do.” Kip kissed Alice on the muzzle. “Tell good stories.”
She nuzzled him back. “Ask someone about your dream.”
The Salon held not only tables, but the string quartet producing the music that filled the building. Alice and Emily found an empty table and sat there, while Kip and Malcolm chose the nearer side door and climbed the stairs behind it. Their ravens flew ahead of them up the stairs while Kip helped Malcolm through the crowd to the first floor and up the empty stair to the second.
The first room they entered was empty enough for the ravens to rejoin them without worrying about being jostled by crowds. Kip lifted his nose to the scents in the hall and caught many new ones, while Malcolm murmured, “So many colors.”
Red paper lanterns hung all along one side of the room, below which hung the Chinese flag and another flag with three concentric circles on a black background: red the outermost, then green, and a bright gold at the center. Men—Chinese sorcerers, Kip presumed—stood near the flags in black robes with red trim, and each one bore a gold pendant around his neck. One was in the process of casting a spell that created a beautiful pattern of frost in the air.
On the other side of the room, the green, red, and white of the Egyptian flag hung behind a trio of men in green robes. Unlike the Chinese sorcerers, they had two tables in front of them draped with green cloth and bearing a pair of elaborate white birdcages at either end that held green parakeets with red bills. Between the cages lay some books, a bottle, and a few small glasses.
What few visitors were in the room had gathered around the Chinese sorcerer, and while Kip did want to see the display, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to talk to the Egyptian sorcerers.
&n
bsp; As he approached the table, one of them gestured, and the bottle lifted from the table and poured a sweet-smelling liquid into one of the cups, which then rose to Kip’s chest height. “Would you care to try some sugarcane juice?” the nearest of the three asked in perfect King’s English.
“Thank you.” Kip reached out and took the cup, which came free from the spell easily. The juice smelled even stronger close up, and when he took a sip, the sweetness overwhelmed him. “It’s very strong,” he said.
“Ah.” The man smiled. He brushed his mustache with a finger. “We have none of your people in our land. It must be that your taste differs from ours. My apologies.”
He reached out, but Kip kept the cup. “I like it,” he said, aware that refusing or disliking the drink might give them offense. “I wasn’t expecting how strong it is. Like taking many sugars in your tea.”
The man’s smile grew. “Indeed. My name is Nephi.”
“Kip.” Kip extended a paw, and the man shook it. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you.”
“This is Moise and Femi.” The man indicated his compatriots. The one called Femi came up and whispered something to Nephi in a language Kip didn’t understand. “Ah. Femi says that you are Master Penfold. Is it so?”
“Yes, that’s me.” Kip took another sip of the sugarcane juice.
Nephi bowed. “In that case, it is a very great pleasure indeed. We stand in awe.”
“Oh,” Kip said, “there’s no need for that.”
The smiles remained fixed on Nephi’s face, as well as his two colleagues. “What questions have you for us?”
“Tell me about your school,” Kip said.
They did so, speaking very generally, of course, and explained that the parakeets were their familiars, in cages more for their protection than for any fear they would escape. Nephi and Femi were what Kip would think of as Masters, and Moise was an apprentice, but more advanced; they called him a “journeyman sorcerer,” and from what Kip gathered, this was not a stage to be advanced from necessarily. A sorcerer might spend his whole life as a journeyman and not be thought less of.
