The Revolution and the Fox

by Tim Susman

  But Dieuleveult had trusted him and it was not his place to call out whatever this might be, from minor indiscretion to heresy. And besides, he was more interested in the small pulse of magic from one of the bones and how it had come to be there.

  The most likely explanation was that one of the saints—if the relics were authentic—had been a sorcerer. Did all sorcerers’ bones retain magic? Then why weren’t the cemeteries outside magic schools repositories of magic? Perhaps this was a saint who’d been trapped in her bones the way Peter had been trapped in the school. He dearly wanted to touch the bones and find out, but not enough to endanger his rapport with M. Dieuleveult.

  By the time Dieuleveult had finished his prayer and asked Kip whether he had seen enough of the relics, Kip had moved around and believed that the long, thin bone was the magical one, though they were all so close together that it was hard to be certain. “Thank you for showing me this,” he said. “It’s fantastic. I never thought I would get to see something like this in person.”

  “If you’d like to offer a prayer to one of them, you may.” The man’s eyes sparkled eagerly in the firelight.

  The bone he thought was magical was the one Dieuleveult had said belonged to Ste. Colette, who looked after pregnant women. So Kip bowed his head and thought a short prayer, asking for God and Ste. Colette to watch over Alice and their cub. He waited for some response, but none came.

  Nobody had known a soul could be bound into stone until they’d discovered Peter some years ago, and they hadn’t told anyone. There could well be other rituals that had been lost to most schools of sorcery. It would be nice to be able to study the bone; maybe if the Dieuleveults became sponsors of the school, they would allow select masters to visit here from time to time.

  “Very good,” Dieuleveult said when Kip looked up. He folded the cloth over the bones and then closed the lid of the wooden box.

  “Have you…” Kip started the question and then realized it might be offensive, but the Frenchman had stopped politely, so he went ahead and asked it. “I mean no disrespect—often I get no response to my prayers. Do you get a response from the saints?”

  The man’s face broke into an affectionate smile, as though Kip had asked him about his children. “Sometimes. One must look for the answers, is it not so? They can come in signs in the world around us, or sometimes in dreams.”

  Dreams. Kip cleared his throat. “Have you ever had a dream over and over again?”

  Perhaps it was the atmosphere of unreality around the saints that made him comfortable enough to ask this of M. Dieuleveult, where he could not bring himself to ask it of another sorcerer. The French noble, after all, could not go into Kip’s mind with sorcery.

  “On occasion.” M. Dieuleveult set down the box on the altar and looked steadily at Kip. “Would you like me to listen to your dream? I may be able to tell you which of the saints is trying to communicate with you.”

  The fox took a breath. “There are three different parts to it. All of it seems to take place in a golden city.”

  “Actual gold, or a gold color?” M. Dieuleveult shook his head. “I apologize for the interruption. Please go on.”

  “Gold color,” Kip said. “Walls of stone, but the color of the sun. In one dream, I’m on a ship approaching the city. I know people on the boat but I’m apart from them. It’s not my city, and though it’s beautiful, I’m apprehensive—” He paused, not sure whether the Frenchman would know that word. “I’m worried about what will happen to me there. In another, I’m in the city—I think it’s the same one—in a great palace, full of gold, actual gold, statues of strange creatures, and flowers and pools. There’s a king I’m supposed to serve, but I know he’s cruel and I’m planning with someone else to overthrow him. And in the last…” He looked up at the crucifix. “I’m being marched through the streets. The people around me are dressed in loose white robes, all of them, and mostly they’re silent. The people behind me are on horses and—I think—camels. I don’t remember having seen a camel before, but I found a picture of one and it matches. And I’m being marched through the street because—because a friend betrayed me.”

  M. Dieuleveult nodded throughout Kip’s recital. When it ended, he took a moment to think, and then said, “Your city could be Rome, of course. It has been described as golden in ancient times. And there are many saints who were martyred for their beliefs, for believing in the godhood of Christ in that pagan country. One of them may be seeking to share his experiences with you, although I can’t say which one it might be without further study. I cannot think of a saint who was brought to Rome on a ship.”

  “So you think it might really be a vision from—from a saint?”

  The Frenchman smiled. “I understand that not all dreams are such.” He gestured to Kip. “You are a stranger to many human institutions, and your headmistress has told us of your success in the world of sorcery. One might easily imagine sorcery as a shining city and yourself as a stranger being brought into it.”

  “That’s what I thought at first,” Kip said. “But the dreams have come back, not always exactly the same, but close.”

  “And then there is the matter of the camel. From where did that vision arise?” M. Dieuleveult shook his head. “No, I suspect that you have caught the attention of a saint who is trying to warn you of a close betrayal.”

  “Close?” Kip asked.

  “Pardon my English. I mean close in time. Soon!” The Frenchman’s face lit up. “A betrayal soon.”

  “But I’ve been having these dreams for almost two years. And I was betrayed by Master Colonel Jackson, in a sense, so maybe it already happened?”

  “Perhaps. Or…you know that God has said a thousand years are as a day to Him. Perhaps to the saints, it is similar.” He smiled and picked up the box containing his relics again. “I will study my history of the saints. If I can find the one whose story matches your dream, it may be instructive.”

  “Thank you,” Kip said as M. Dieuleveult walked back to the sacristy. When the door closed behind the Frenchman, the fox swished his tail and walked over to warm himself by the fire. Staring into its ever-changing red and gold depths always calmed him and helped him organize his thoughts. He had not gotten any particularly useful insight into his dreams, but Emily would be pleased that he had made this connection with M. Dieuleveult; perhaps their performance should have some connection to saints? Or perhaps not, not if this were a private thing that M. Dieuleveult wouldn’t want exposed in front of the other contestants. But something religious, something that hinted at the school’s connection to a higher power.

  The door to the sacristy opened just a little. M. Dieuleveult slipped through, and a small rip announced that the space had not been quite wide enough for him and all his clothes. But he did not even acknowledge the tear as he closed and locked the door. He slipped the key back into a pocket and turned to Kip with a bright smile. “Thank you for indulging a fellow. I can’t show them to everyone, so I do want to make sure to share them with people who will be properly appreciative.”

  “I don’t know as much about the saints as I should,” Kip said, “and I’m quite honored to have been able to see these parts of their history.” He hoped he was acting with proper reverence.

  “Yes, very much so,” Dieuleveult said. “Now, back to the house. Much to do today! The merchants will be arriving for tonight’s affair and I must be present to meet them. If Pierre deals with them he will give away all our possessions with bad bargains.”

  “I understand.” Kip was still thinking of the bone, and then, as they came within sight of the main doorway, he realized what the other had said. “Tonight’s affair?”

  “The competition!” Dieuleveult cried. “Oh, it shall be grand. We have invited many of the neighboring lords and ladies to see the spectacle. It’s been months since we hosted a gala. The Duponts held one in February, and the Marquis de Balincourt gave a spectacular one just last December. Oh, you should have seen it! All the servants he
ld candles and they performed a dance. Everything was beautiful.”

  “It sounds lovely.” Kip didn’t think it would be helpful to ask how the servants felt about holding burning candles all night.

  “But ah ha ha, they did not have sorcerers! Who’s a second-rate house now?” He rubbed his hands together as they reached the door, where he waited for Kip to open it. “So you must provide us an excellent show.”

  Kip obligingly pulled the heavy door open, his mind racing at this new dimension to the competition. “What kind of thing do you think would be best? I work well with fire, but we can provide other kinds of…” He didn’t feel right saying “entertainment,” so he said, “distraction,” which also wasn’t the right word but at least didn’t make him feel like a court jester.

  “Ah, I would not know how to judge!” M. Dieuleveult’s excitement had shifted from religious veneration to the joy of a child presented with a well-wrapped gift. “Please do not let my limited experience restrain your imagination.”

  “All right.” Kip wasn’t sure whether any of this information would help them decide what to cast, but Emily would be a good judge of that. And then he thought of something simple he could do. “If you need help moving things into the kitchens, or—or where they need to go, I can help with sorcery.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, they may not arrive for an hour or more, and I would detest making you wait.”

  “There’s a cart approaching right now,” Kip said, ears flicking.

  “Eh?” M. Dieuleveult hurried to the door and looked out. “So there is! How extraordinary. Did you perceive it through sorcery?”

  “Er...” Kip was saved from having to choose between lying and disappointing his host by M. Dieuleveult getting a good look at the cart for the first time.

  “Surely there was to be more wine than only three barrels,” he muttered, forgetting his question to Kip as he hurried out to meet the horses and driver.

  Kip followed behind, ready to make good on his offer even though it did not seem that three barrels would be worth casting a spell over. M. Dieuleveult forged ahead quickly. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” he called as the horses drew level with him and stopped, huffing. This was followed by a stream of French too quick for Kip to follow completely, the gist of which seemed to be that three barrels was definitely not enough.

  The driver of the cart—the merchant, presumably—answered slowly enough for Kip to understand that the rest of the shipment was “not available.” The reason seemed to be “people.”

  He thought he’d misheard, but M. Dieuleveult repeated the word incredulously. What ‘people’? he wanted to know.

  People, the merchant replied, just people. He gestured vaguely. There had been many of them and they had taken his wine. No, he had not informed the royal soldiers; he had hurried to deliver the wine he could escape with.

  This was impossible, M. Dieuleveult fumed. Heads would be separated from rebellious bodies. He exhorted the merchant to come inside and tell him whether any of the scoundrels were known to him, while this fine fox would unload the wine and bring it to the kitchen.

  As there was no mention of sorcery, the merchant looked skeptical but followed them into the castle. A steward stood waiting in the courtyard and through sign language and broken French, Kip made him understand that he would be taking charge of the wine. The steward thanked him and pointed to the door through which the wine needed to be sent.

  When Kip cast his spell and lifted all three barrels from the cart, the merchant snapped his head up from his conversation with M. Dieuleveult and swore an oath. The noble could not hide his smile as he said that oh yes, this was the sorcerer, it was no great matter for him to be here carrying wine for the Dieuleveults.

  Kip gritted his teeth, reminding himself of the importance of his mission, and moved the wine into the kitchen behind the steward, who more than made up for his master’s nonchalance with his unending stream of gratitude.

  11

  Victor's Spell

  Emily was predictably annoyed that their competition had been turned into a spectacle. “You realize what this means,” she said. “A gala like this is planned weeks ahead of time. They never had any intention of giving us money at the Exposition, only to lure a few sorcerers here to put on a show for them.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Kip said honestly.

  “When you have as much money as they do, you expect everyone to just fall in line.” Emily’s eyes flashed. “And we need their money, so we’ll have to make the best of it. I suppose one benefit is that our sorcery tends to be showier anyway, so we must make it as visually impressive as possible.”

  “And what does that mean?” Kip asked.

  She sighed. “What benefit does our school have? Calatians. So I’m afraid I can’t get around the idea that you should summon a demon. The Dutch showed off their ability to do it at the Exposition; if you show that you can do it without a calyx, that would be impressive.”

  “They won’t understand what it means to not use a calyx,” Kip objected.

  Emily ran a hand over Sleek’s feathers. The raven sat on her arm rather than her shoulder, preening, and made a soft throaty croak when Emily touched her. “So tell them. But unless one of the others brought a calyx—and I don’t think any did—none of them will be able to replicate it.”

  “I really don’t like summoning demons,” Kip said.

  “If I could do it, I would.”

  “What about fire? M. Dieuleveult was quite impressed with my fire, and nobody else can do that either.”

  She nodded. “We’ll start with fire. But have a name ready, and if we judge that we need something extra, you’ll be willing to do it, right?”

  It would be just one summoning, brief, just for show, and then it would be done, weighed against the possibility of years of education for Jorey and Richard and Charity (they would find them, of course they would, and tomorrow he could join the search) and others like them. “Yes,” he said, though he resolved privately that he would try every other avenue first.

  “Good.” She lifted her arm and Sleek fluttered to the window. “Then let’s practice some of your fire sorcery. I know you don’t need the practice to cast, but maybe I can help you see what looks best to an audience.”

  Thinking of the students made him want to look in on Ash to see how Alice and Malcolm fared. He wanted to tell Alice about M. Dieuleveult’s relics and his strange obsession with the saints, and to ask whether she’d spoken to Coppy’s family yet. But he restrained himself and worked instead on giving his fire as much theatricality as he could.

  They found that lamp glass, levitated, could do a great deal toward containing and shaping fire, so Emily suggested she visit Boston in the afternoon (Boston’s morning) to see if she could find any interestingly-shaped glass from a shop. Kip practiced summoning and binding a phosphorus elemental, which would be hopefully more entertaining than a demon, because the gregarious phosphorus elementals enjoyed talking to people and could be fed bits of paper or anything else flammable. Summoning elementals was not as difficult as summoning demons, and Patris certainly could, but perhaps the others would not think it worth showing off.

  He and Emily worked hard to come up with something related to M. Dieuleveult’s saints, but sorcery kept itself secular by design (Kip had been taught very briefly about the Holy Roman Wars of the 1300s in which the Catholic Church had challenged the faltering European monarchies and lost, after which for three hundred years sorcerers were not permitted to join the priesthood) and they could not come up with any good ideas that did not seem blasphemous.

  Emily thought they should also demonstrate what use they would make of the money, which led back to worrying about the students. “Let’s worry about getting this done,” she said, “and then we can go to London and join them there,” and the way she said it made it clear to Kip that she was telling herself as well as him.

  Charles brought them a small lunch with the ne
ws that the gala would begin shortly before sundown. Claudine set the table for two, despite Emily and Kip’s invitation to Charles to join them. “How far away is sundown, would you say?” Emily asked as Kip helped himself to a delicious buttery roll with cured ham on the side.

  “I would guess about three hours,” Charles said.

  “That gives me time to go to Boston. I don’t know where there are glassblowers there, but I know the market area and I should be able to find one.”

  Charles asked politely whether he might ask her why she wanted glass and if there were anything he could provide. Emily explained what they were looking for, and he nodded thoughtfully. “There is nothing like that here,” he said, “but if you can take me along with you, I know where there is an excellent glass merchant in Paris who will have what you need.”

  “That sounds lovely.” Emily took one of the rolls. “I haven’t any French money, though. Oh! I believe M Deboussard might give me some in exchange for our coin. I would have to go back to the Academie anyway, so I could ask him.”

  Charles smiled. “I believe Mme. Dieuleveult would happily purchase your glass for you, if it is in service to tonight’s competition.”

  “I will accept that offer.” Emily took a bite of the roll. “Oh, these are lovely. Very well, Charles, would you like to go now?”

  “I have a small number of duties to attend to,” the footman said, “but I will return within the half hour with traveling clothes and would be delighted to accompany you then.”

  “We won’t be out of doors,” Emily reminded him. “I intend to travel by sorcery.”

  “We will have to leave a building to meet the glass merchant,” Charles said, “and it will be twenty minutes to walk from the Academie.”