by Tim Susman
Two of the others who spoke English hurried up behind her, chorusing that they, too, needed to save heirlooms and jewelry from their estates. Emily put her hands up to quiet them. “Your house is burning,” she told Mme. Dieuleveult. “It would be dangerous to go back.”
“Then bring your fire sorcerer.” The lady pointed at Kip. “Miss Carswell, I pledge my support to your school, but we must save as much as possible.”
“I will support your school!” the man next to her cried.
Emily shook her head. “I don’t know where you live,” she said. “Unless it’s in Paris somewhere, it would take hours to get there. And Madame…it’s not just the fire. There are revolutionaries—uprisers—all over.”
“They’ll have fled the fire.” The woman leaned closer. “Please.”
Emily shook her head and was about to speak when a voice from the floor floated up to them. “Fire?”
M. Dieuleveult had sat up and was rubbing his head. “Our house? On fire?”
His wife hurried to kneel by his side. “Yes, but it’s all right. The sorcerers here are going to take us back to reclaim our valuables.”
M. Dieuleveult’s eyes widened and he sought out Kip. “Master Penfold. Please, you must take me back.”
His relics. If anything was priceless, they were. Kip hesitated, and into his silence, Emily said, “It’s simply too dangerous.”
“I can take him.” Kip turned to Emily. “Just me, and only him. We can retrieve a few things, and if the situation isn’t too bad, we can fetch more.”
She started to object; he could see that. But she reconsidered and gave him a nod. “Use your judgment,” she said.
“Wait.” Mme. Dieuleveult straightened. “Take us both.”
“I can only take one. And it has to be me so I can deal with the fire,” Kip said. “And I have to take your husband because he knows where—certain valuables are.”
“What, his old bones? Those are—” She broke off, aware of her husband’s gaze. “We have many valuables. Why should they be first?”
Kip leaned in close to her. “I have examined them,” he whispered, “and at least one of them may be a truly unique relic.”
She did not appear visibly moved by this, but extended a hand to help her husband to his feet. “Very well, Bertrand,” she said. “But when you’ve done your errand, do retrieve the Greuze if nothing else.”
“Of course, my dear.” He stood, a little shakily. “Master Penfold, I am at your disposal.”
The first place to go was the sacristy in the little stone church. Kip warned M. Dieuleveult before they left, “I am going to attempt to take us to the front of the church, near the altar. If I see that we are in a dangerous situation, I’m going to bring us back immediately.”
“Understood.” Despite Chakrabarti’s healing, the nobleman seemed a little unsteady still, but he had just woken up, after all.
Kip grasped the man’s shoulder, visualized the church and the altar, and sent the two of them there.
They appeared in front of the altar looking out over the main body of the church, where three men in ragged clothes worked to carry a wooden pew out the door. The one facing Kip dropped his end of the pew and shouted, pointing their way.
Kip visualized Emily’s office, but before he could cast the spell, M. Dieuleveult slipped out from under his paw and ran to the sacristy door. Cursing, Kip followed.
Inside the room, a man jumped to his feet and brandished a small knife at them. Kip pushed the door closed behind him as he grabbed the man with a spell and lifted him off the ground. The man continued to shout in French, arms and legs flailing helplessly at the air as he sought for any kind of purchase.
Outside, more shouts answered, so Kip flew the man across the room and pinned him against the door. “Please hurry,” he entreated M. Dieuleveult, who knelt next to a stone in the wall and was pulling at it.
“I don’t think they have discovered them,” the man replied, pulling the stone away, and indeed, when he reached in, he pulled out the wooden box, cradling it reverently. He said something in French with a tone of “thanks be to God” and stood. “We may return now.”
“Your wife asked you to look for one of your paintings,” Kip said. “Should we not do that?”
“And risk these items without price?” M. Dieuleveult shook his head. “No, we should leave.”
The man against the door, jarred by the pounding and pushing against it from outside, now stared at Kip and shouted. Kip didn’t catch any of the words except for “Americain!” and M. Dieuleveult seemed unconcerned. “I’ll take us outside,” he said, “and we can see the state of the house.”
“No,” the Frenchman argued, but Kip had already grasped his shoulder and translocated them outside—not to the ground, but to a point fifty feet above it. M. Dieuleveult shrieked and clutched at Kip’s arm as they fell.
“I’ve got you,” Kip said, releasing the man in the church as he cast another spell to hold both of them in the air. “And the relics too. I caught them in case you dropped them.”
“I would never!” M. Dieuleveult’s eyes were wide enough to show a good deal of white. “What are you playing at?”
“We’re safe up here unless they have guns, and we can get a better view of the house.” That view, here where they could see over the stone walls, was still obscured by a great cloud of smoke. As they watched, a crash came from inside the house and a great billow of black smoke joined the others.
M. Dieuleveult’s complaints died away as he watched the house burn. “Saint Médard,” he murmured, bowing his head, and then a few words in French. Kip caught “rain” and “fire,” and that was enough to puzzle out what M. Dieuleveult was praying for from the saint who supposedly controlled the weather.
When he’d finished, his head remained bowed. Kip touched him gently on the arm. “Your wife spoke of a particular painting. Where is it?”
“The…The Greuze.” M. Dieuleveult’s eyes searched the castle and he pointed to a place from which smoke issued thickly. “You can…put out the fire?” he asked in a husky whisper.
“Yes,” Kip said, “but not repair what has already been burned.”
“Nothing is left,” the man said, and turned away. “Take us back.”
Kip set the image of Emily’s office in his mind, and then a patch of light caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head, already casting the spell, and saw that the moonlight was reflecting off a large, thick bank of thunderclouds. Had they been there before M. Dieuleveult’s prayer? He didn’t know, and a second later they were replaced by the walls and carpet of Emily’s office.
“We could not save the Greuze,” was all M. Dieuleveult said to his wife when they returned. She asked more questions about the state of the house and got rather sharp when she saw that he’d saved his relics, but none of it penetrated M. Dieuleveult’s stolid demeanor. He asked Emily if he could keep the relics somewhere safe, and she told him that for the time being they would be safest in her office, so he placed them in her desk before following his wife and Kip out the door.
At his house, Kip introduced them to Abel, who took the unexpected guests in stride. “Keep your door closed,” he said, “and I’ll do my best to keep the children quiet when they get home from school.”
When the Dieuleveults had gone upstairs to Kip and Alice’s room, Abel pulled Kip into their sitting-room and insisted on hearing the story. Kip, grateful for a respite, gave him a short summary of the Exposition, Victor’s display, and the revolution. “I think it’s more than an uprising,” he said to the other fox. “They burned the estate. The sorcerers have fled. I don’t know how long the king can hold out.”
“And they had some planning.” Abel sighed and put an arm around Kip. “I’m glad you’re out of there. I know you can account for yourself, but I much prefer that you don’t have to.”
“I do too.” Kip leaned against the other fox. “I wish I could stay to see Arabella and Aran, but I have to get back. And I
have to get to London to see what Malcolm and Alice have been doing.”
He sent his mind to Ash, finding her in a house by herself with moonlight coming through the window. “I’ll find them later,” he said in response to Abel’s questioning look. “But I’m glad I got some time with you.”
“I am too. I wish it could be more. Tell me if there’s anything I can do.”
Kip looked at the ceiling. “Be nice to them. They’re good people, and they’ve just lost their home.”
“I will.” Abel clasped his paw and pulled him close. “Be careful.”
Kip kissed him on the muzzle. “I’ll be back before you know it, with Alice and Malcolm and all the students.”
He walked back rather than translocate, because the afternoon air was pleasant and it was nice not to be in a hurry for once. As he walked past the gates, still leaning against the stone posts, he saw Emily waiting outside the front doors and went to meet her.
She waited as he approached, looking over the gardens that were still only little shoots that barely had their leaves. “You’re going to say that we need to go to London,” she said. “I won’t argue. But I think I will stay here. For one thing, the Dieuleveults know me best, and the others know me at least a little.”
“And you’re human.”
“And I’m human.” She sighed. “I tried to translocate to Victor, but either I don’t know him well enough or he’s warded, or possibly both. It has been some years. Perhaps you’ll be able to find him now that we know he’s in the College.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And I’ll go back to Paris in a day or two and perhaps see if things have calmed down or gotten worse.”
“It’s all right.” He’d been working himself up to argue that he should go to London, and to find that he didn’t have to was an immense relief. “Abel wants to help here too.”
“I’ll go see him now.” Emily rested a hand on Kip’s shoulder. “Thank you, Kip, for all your help. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the school, but we did the right thing, I think.”
“I think so too.” He reached out to hug her. “I wish we’d gotten Victor, though. If only those revolutionaries had waited one more night.”
“I suspect they were aiming for the night of the gala.” She hugged back.
“One question before I go,” Kip said, reminded by thinking of Victor and the gala. “When Master Gupta did his illusion, what did you see?”
Emily shook her head, her mouth in a twisted smile. “Most likely Master Gupta’s fanciful imagining of what you would look like as a human. Sharp-nosed, red-haired, but of a darker complexion, not quite his but certainly not as light as mine or Malcolm’s. It wasn’t flattering, but I only saw it for a moment, and it’s of no consequence anyway.”
“All right.” He smiled. “I was only curious.”
She touched the fur of his cheek. “It was by no means an improvement on your current form, which I’m very fond of. Now go. Give my love to Alice and Malcolm. Find those students and come home soon. And take Sleek.” The raven hopped from her shoulder to Kip’s. “That way you can at least tell me what’s going on.”
The weight of Sleek on his shoulder reminded Kip how much he missed having Ash around, and by extension how empty the town of Peachtree felt without Malcolm and Alice and the three students. “I’ll report in every day,” he promised. “And even if they don’t appreciate it, you did a marvelous job getting those people to safety, and you’ve led us all through this better than anyone else could.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and looked around the quiet, peaceful school in the late afternoon light, the sky beginning to tinge with orange and the scent of the gardens giving everything a tranquil air. “I’d hoped we were done with revolution and could get on with the business of living,” she said.
“I don’t know that we’ll ever be done with revolution. Not until we reach our reward.” His eyes traveled up.
Emily gave a short laugh. “At this point I don’t know what our reward will be. Depending on whom you listen to, we’re as likely to wind up down below as up above. I prefer to worry about making this world better.”
“Doesn’t that mean we’re always waiting for a revolution?”
“Change doesn’t have to come in big, violent upheavals,” she said.
Kip splayed his ears. “I’d like to believe that, but…it always seems to, doesn’t it?”
13
Refugees
The Isle of Dogs was quiet, the air cool and almost as humid as in Peachtree, though with the smell of rot from the Thames instead of flowers. Kip appeared in the house where Ash was perched and reached out to her with his mind to wake her. She croaked and tried to fly to her customary shoulder, only to find Sleek there. This prompted a lot of fluttering and more croaks that Kip tried in vain to quiet, after which Sleek flew to a perch and Ash took her place.
One of the shapes lying on the floor stirred and sat up. Kip’s eyes had adjusted enough to recognize the ears of a fox, and Alice’s scent came to him a moment later. “Kip?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She got all the way up and hurried to him, throwing her arms around him and disturbing Ash again, though this time the raven bore the disruption quietly. “What happened? Did you get the money?”
The outline of the curtain shimmered with moonlight. “It’s complicated,” he whispered, moving in that direction. “Let’s go outside.”
They left the house to stand outside, remaining against the wall of the house so as to stay out of the way. Calatians walked purposefully up and down the narrow street but did so without much talk or noise. Kip leaned back against the stone wall and Alice followed. “We didn’t get the money,” he said, still whispering. “I don’t know if there is money anymore.”
“What?” Her ears went back.
Before he could explain, the curtain rustled and another shape joined them. “Having secrets from the rest of us, are you?” Malcolm said with a smile. “Loud as rain on a tin roof, you two.”
Kip turned to hug his friend. “We didn’t want to wake anyone.”
Malcolm patted Kip’s back. “Sure, I’ve slept enough that I can miss an hour to hear from you. How was Paris?”
“Burning,” Kip said, and then explained the riots to them, the chaotic fleeing of the estate, and his return and the burning house.
“Is all of France rioting?”
“I don’t know, but all of Paris seems to be.” Kip straightened. “But we have some news. We used some sorcery to get Victor to admit that he took Jorey, Charity, and Richard. He’s got them in a cell somewhere.”
Both Malcolm and Alice made noises of outrage, and Malcolm said, “Ay, well, no surprise there, but I suppose we hadn’t known it for certain until now, had we? Did you get anything more out of him?”
“We got distracted getting people out of the burning castle.” Kip clenched his fists. “We should’ve just taken him right then.”
“You couldn’t have known.” Alice laid a paw on his arm.
“Would be nice to have him to tell us where to look, for sure,” Malcolm said. “But there’s a reason Alice and I came here and not to Madrid or Moscow. We knew it was him.”
“We knew but we didn’t have proof.” Kip sighed. “Now we do and I don’t know if I feel better or worse about it. How have things been going here? I know it’s only been a couple days, though it seems longer to me.”
“The problem is that we can’t send people into the College,” Alice said. “We can only ask calyxes to spy for us when they’re called, and only one was called yesterday.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that our old friend Grinda is running the show here.” Malcolm kept his voice low. “At least, the show behind the scenes. Blaeda’s still the mayor, but with Abel gone, the rebellious ones have aligned behind her. And she still doesn’t like you much, as she made certain to remind poor Alice here.”
“She doesn’t like me much either,” Alice said,
“but at least she was civil to me and agreed that the next time someone comes for one of the foxes, I can take their place.”
“What?” Kip spoke louder than he’d intended. “No.”
“Kip—”
“It’s too dangerous.”
Alice and Malcolm shared a look that told him they’d discussed this and had known he’d react this way. Malcolm stepped closer to Kip. “The way Grinda is,” he said in a low tone, “we had to talk her into it for an hour, and only won out because of the help of one of her associates, a beaver. She said if we were discovered, they’d take retribution on the Calatians here, accused us of being selfish because we’re only worried about our own students, and aye, it’s hard to argue with that.”
“Nobody told us until a few days ago,” Kip objected.
“And in her mind,” Malcolm said patiently, “we should be here lookin’ after them. Weren’t we all together down in that Bay during our war? And once we got what we wanted, they were left here in the Isle. Everything the same.”
“When he says ‘we,’” Alice put in, “Grinda says it’s just you.”
“It isn’t fair.” Malcolm rested a hand on Kip’s shoulder.
“No, but…I put myself in that position.” Kip leaned back against the wall and addressed Malcolm. “What about checking the College for areas that are warded? Can you find any wards that would at least give us a chance to see where Victor’s doing whatever it is he’s doing?”
“I’d need a demon’s help to do that,” Malcolm said slowly.
Kip nodded. “Can’t you do it without?”
“If I were closer. Maybe when Alice goes to the College—”
“She’s not—”
“I am.” She stood defiantly in front of him.
“I know the College,” Kip said. “I can take you to Cott’s old workshop. How’s that for close enough?”
“Might be. But we really should wait and talk to Grinda in the morning. Alice and I should anyway. We can tell her, I don’t know, tell her that I just remembered a time you took me to visit your old teacher.”
