by Tim Susman
“Well, find it. Don’t worry about damaging his mind. He won’t need it for much longer.”
That threat, so casually delivered, shook Kip’s concentration. “Ah,” Gupta said, with distaste. “He summoned a demon.”
“Blast. March told us he wouldn’t do that!”
“And—he did not bind it?” Gupta withdrew his hand and stared at Kip.
Victor paused for a moment, his face screwed up in thought, and then laughed aloud. “My dear fellow, he’s created a false memory to scare us with the idea of an unbound demon flying around. No sorcerer would summon a demon and not bind it. Albright also said he had some facility to resist spiritual magic. Look at him, the trickster.”
Gupta continued to stare at Kip, and the fox looked back, hoping to find some measure of sympathy there. Then the sorcerer bowed his head. “You are undoubtedly correct,” he said. “I did not see anything else to concern you.”
“All right.” Victor straightened and stood. “Then we have one more thing to do, and after that the experiment can proceed.”
Kip scrambled to his feet, keeping his tail in front of him. “What experiment?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll explain it all to you in time. And perhaps you’ll even remember it afterwards. I haven’t been able to ascertain that.” Victor raised a hand. “I wouldn’t count on it, though.”
He swept out of sight. Gupta followed without another look at Kip, and Farley walked past Kip’s cell. The marmot paused to gather phlegm in his throat and then spit through the bars at Kip.
The fox got his paw up to intercept the worst of it. Farley stared, and for a moment Kip thought he might try again, but he just laughed and walked on. A moment later, a heavy door creaked and then slammed shut.
Silence for a minute, then two. And then Malcolm’s voice came weakly. “Please tell me I’m having a nightmare and that wasn’t Victor and Farley laughing at you.”
“If you’re having a nightmare, we’re sharing it.” Kip’s ears perked up. Though he’d hoped against hope that Malcolm hadn’t been taken prisoner, he felt a great wash of comfort at his friend’s voice. He pressed his muzzle to the bars of his cell but couldn’t see to either side, and the cells across from him were empty. “Are you well?”
“Cold and angry and flat on me back, so not an unfamiliar spot for me.”
“Did they take your clothes as well?”
“What? Strewth, no. Have they taken yours?”
“I’m down to the fur.” Kip rubbed his arm, sleeking the fur down. “At least it’s not skin.”
“Shockingly indecent of them. No, they left my clothes but took my eyes. Can’t feel Corvi anywhere.”
“If you talk to him, he might be able to hear you,” Kip said. “I tried with Ash. I hope Alice got away.”
“She wasn’t alone.” Malcolm didn’t say more, and Kip understood that while he meant the presence of Sleek and a way to reach Emily, he didn’t want to say so aloud where anyone might be listening. “Speaking of being alone, is there anyone in here save the two of us?”
“Not that I’ve heard. The other cells seem to be empty.” Kip listened to the silence, but small noises echoed off the rock and made it hard to sort them out. “I think I hear someone else breathing, but I can’t be sure.”
“I’ll hold my breath and you hold yours and then we’ll listen for it,” Malcolm said.
They did so, but that only made the silence more deep and dreadful. “I don’t hear anything now,” Kip said, but just as he said that, from the cell on the other side of him came a small gasp.
“Richard?” he called, but only silence responded.
“Maybe he’s asleep,” Malcolm said. “Or pretending he’s somewhere else.”
“Maybe.” Kip turned and sat with his back to the bars. Despite his fur, the cold of the stone seeped into him.
Malcolm cleared his throat. “Say, Kip, would you mind describing this place where we are?”
Kip pressed his fingers to the stone floor. “Well, the floor you can feel extends up to the walls and above us. It’s a dark grey color with flecks of white in it. Looks old.”
“Feels old, too.” There came a dull clunking sound. “And these bars are iron. There isn’t a latch somewhere that lets one right out that I’m just not seeing, is there?”
Kip had to smile. “No, I’ve looked.”
“Ah. Pity. Victor’s a clever fellow, but even clever fellows overlook things now and then.”
“True. I should’ve known that we couldn’t trust Grinda.”
“Don’t lay the blame at her feet. Or paws. She might not even know. It could be March all alone. Remember him talking about how he had to gain her trust?”
“Aye.” Kip wanted to blame Grinda, but he had to admit that they had no proof that she’d betrayed them. “You may have the right of it.”
For a short time, there was silence, but Malcolm could never let silence go on too long. “What do you suppose Victor wants to do with us?”
“With me?” Kip closed his eyes. “He wants to take my magic away. Maybe turn me into an animal. With you? I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t seem like he can leave me alive after this.” Malcolm mused. “Maybe he’ll turn me into a Calatian. What sort of Calatian d’you reckon I’d be?”
“I doubt he’ll waste that much energy on you.”
“Come on,” Malcolm said. “What do you think I’d be? I think I’d make a good rat, to be perfectly honest. They’re hard-working and keep to themselves, aye?”
“You’d be a lovely rat,” Kip said. “But I think you’d be a better otter.”
“An otter? Thing is, I can’t swim.”
“All the more reason. You’d learn. But otters, they’re—they’re very talkative and happy a lot of the time.” He thought about Coppy and about how the otter would have handled Grinda. He would’ve somehow smoothed things over; that was something he’d done well. Or if Abel had been here…
“That sounds like a good life,” Malcolm said wistfully. “I don’t suppose Adamson takes requests, though.”
Abel and Aran and Arabella, and Alice and Emily, all the people he would likely never see again, and his unborn cub whom he would never meet. If only he could send them a message, simply tell them he loved them and tell them good-bye, he would feel better about going to whatever fate awaited him. “I don’t suppose he does, because there’s a lot of things I’d ask for.”
“A comfortable bed.”
“My clothes.”
“Some wine wouldn’t go amiss.”
“One of those nice French cheeses.”
“Oh, did the Dieuleveults feed you well?”
Kip smiled at the memory. It was only days ago but felt like months. “For the day we were there, very well. Their cheeses have such an interesting different taste from the ones we get.”
“What were you going to do for them?” Malcolm asked. “For the competition?”
“Something with fire and glass, or fire and shapes. It was going to be very pretty and very useless.”
Malcolm tapped the stone floor, a short rhythmic sound that Kip found calming. “You know,” his friend said presently, “of all the spells you’ve cast, the one you did just before we left Ella’s house was the one that impressed me the most.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s something to be proud of.”
Still avoiding specifics in case they were being listened to. Kip wasn’t sure that “proud” was the right word for him; having Nikolon prove worthy of his trust made him ashamed of how he’d treated her in years past. “I wish I’d cast something more useful, like a ward.”
“You don’t think that spell might still prove useful?”
An unbound demon well-intentioned toward him? Perhaps it might be useful, but even if Nikolon could get through the wards into this dungeon, what could she do? She couldn’t restore magic to them, and she couldn’t translocate them. He’d asked her, years ago, and she�
�d said that her power was only sufficient to take people to the demon plane. She had never done that and did not know, nor did Kip, whether people could survive such a trip, much less return to the physical world from it.
It would be nice if she could send Victor to the demon plane and let him find his own way back. That would be better than dropping him in the ocean. Except—what if Victor found a way to harness the energy of the demon plane? Maybe he couldn’t reach magic from here, but he might be able to from there.
It was all academic anyway, unless Nikolon showed up. “It might,” he replied cautiously to Malcolm. “But I wouldn’t count on it. I’d much prefer to rely on our friends to find us. They have more information than we did yesterday, at least about people involved.”
“They do,” he said, “and if anyone in the world can do something with that information, I’d put my money on those two. All the same, I don’t know as we can count on anything we can’t hear right at the moment.”
“I’m out of tricks, I think.” Kip sighed. “The best I can do is talk, and I don’t think Victor’s inclined to listen to me at all.”
“I always knew that giving him power was a terrible idea. Wish I had just a moment with the fellow who employs him. You know, before I go to whatever fate he has in mind for me.”
“Suppose old King George wouldn’t put up much of a fight,” Kip said.
Another pause. “You think he works for the King?”
“If not for the King, then for a highly-placed government official with the King’s knowledge. At the Dieuleveults, he told them that if they funded him, it would ‘soothe relations’ with the British Empire, or some such. And here, when I said that kidnapping us would be a problem for his country, he didn’t deny the association. It isn’t a lot, but…”
“With Victor, he lets so few scraps drop. Yes, I tend to agree with you, but then, I’ve a dim view of British monarchs in general, and this one certainly knew about the attacks on the American schools even if he denied it in public.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if this is somehow meant to bring America back into the Empire.” Kip wrapped both paws around his tail and shifted again on the uncomfortable stone. “I can’t quite see how, but it would explain quite a bit.”
“But as well, you know…” Malcolm scooted along the stone, and his voice came from closer. “Victor works for himself first.”
Kip got up and sat against the wall that separated his cell from Malcolm’s. He reached an arm through the bars and toward Malcolm’s cell as far as he could, tapping as he went. His claws found the edge of the wall and a first bar. “True enough. Did I tell you that Patris was there too?”
Malcolm shifted, and then fingers found Kip’s claws, and his friend’s hand grasped his. “You did.”
The touch helped immensely. Kip smiled. “You remember how he and Victor were so friendly all the time? Victor barely talked to him. As soon as someone better came along, Patris was tossed aside.”
“Couldn’t happen to a more deserving fellow.” Malcolm squeezed Kip’s paw. “Tell me again about the event.”
So Kip recounted as much of the Dieuleveults’ soiree as he could remember, including the attack at the end. While telling it, he remembered that M. Dieuleveult had recommended he pray to Saint Gregoire, and so after he told Malcolm that, they both fell silent for a short moment. Kip said a prayer to that saint and any other who might be listening, and guessed that Malcolm was doing the same.
He’d almost forgotten his nakedness until the door clattered open a little while later. He and Malcolm let go of each other, and Kip withdrew his arm into the cell.
Footsteps clomped down on the stone, and Farley’s voice called, “Feedin’ time.”
The marmot came into view and stood in front of Kip’s cell. In front of him floated three cups and three plates accompanied by the aroma of old bread. “Get back now,” Farley said.
Kip got up as the marmot’s paws glowed lime green. He knelt and braced himself; the glow disappeared and he was thrown against the back wall of the cell. A thump from either side told him his cellmates had suffered the same rough treatment.
Farley deposited a plate and cup in front of each cell and then came back to Kip’s and kicked the cup over, sending splashes of water over the stone. “Aw, look at that,” he said. “Spilled your water, I did. Let me fill that up again.”
He knelt in front of the cup, reached under his robes, and fixed Kip with a gleeful look. A moment later a stream of piss hit the cup with a rattle and then a splash as the cup filled. “And that bread looks a bit hard,” Farley went on. “Let’s soften it up, shall we?” He guided the stream back and forth over the two pieces of stale bread on the plate.
Kip held Farley’s gaze, doing his best to remain stoic even as the stench of the urine reached him. He was not too hungry, so the loss of the bread didn’t bother him, but he would have liked a drink of water.
Farley finished up and stood. “Next time, maybe I’ll have something else to drop on your plate,” he snarled at Kip, his whiskers flaring. “And you,” he said to Malcolm, “your food and water is outside the bars. Have a care you don’t tip your water over. There won’t be any more ’til evening.”
He strode away. The spell holding Kip to the back wall released him, dropping him to the floor. Farley’s footsteps continued on, and Kip, spurred to hit back somehow, called, “Victor’s only keeping you around because you’re useful. Once he has magic, you won’t be.”
The footsteps went on, and Kip thought Farley might just ignore him. But that would have been the wise thing to do. “Think I dunno that?” he retorted, stopping somewhere past Malcolm’s cell to judge by the distance of his voice. “You lookin’ out for me now?”
Kip wanted very badly to say, “Well, we’re both Calatians,” but he caught sight of the cup of urine in front of his bars and imagined Farley coming back to do something worse if antagonized. “He’s always been using you,” he said. “You’d still be human if not for him.”
Farley made a grunting noise. “Listen ‘ere,” he said. “You can say what you like. I’m not stupid like you think. I know what he is. We got a deal. He’s gonna make me human again.”
“Like he pretended to at the Exposition?” At least Farley was listening to him, talking to him, and Kip had to sow as much doubt as he could. He had no illusion that Farley would ever be friendly to him, but at least he could perhaps sour his relationship with Victor. “He’s a Boston city boy, thinks he’s so much smarter than everyone else. He’s good at tricks.”
“When I’m human I’m done with him. I got a word there’s trade down to the Caribbean and I’m gonna go live there. And guess what?” Farley’s voice had been sharp and angry, and now it turned cunning. “I just thought of this right this minute. After he’s done with you, sucked all the magic out of you and left just the animal you are, I’m gonna ask him if I can have you. I’ll take you with me and keep you chained, and when you die I’ll wear your skin around my neck. How you like that? That make you want to keep talking?”
“Why retire to the island and deprive the world of a future diplomat?” Malcolm chimed in, perhaps to stop Kip from talking, though the fox had no intention of saying any more words.
Farley just laughed. “You. When he’s done with you, you won’t even be worth chaining up. Take a look at the other if you want to see what’s in store. Oh! You can’t, can you?”
“Sometimes it’s a real blessing not to have any eyes,” Malcolm replied lightly.
There was a pause while Farley processed that, and then his tone got sharp again. “What’s that mean?” Malcolm stayed silent. “Oh, you’ll look at a stinking fox but not at me? Maybe you want some of what he got.” Footsteps came back toward Malcolm’s cell, and Farley’s robes rustled.
There was silence for a good long while, and then the robes rustled again and Farley grunted. “I’ll get you next time,” he said, and tromped away down the hall. This time he didn’t stop, and the door cre
aked open and shut.
Malcolm’s exhalation carried over to Kip’s cell. “Aye,” Kip said.
“It was worth a try,” his friend replied. “Can’t save a rotten apple, but you can maybe chuck it back at Victor. Maybe you got him to think.”
“That would be more impressive than any spell I cast.” Kip eyed his soiled bread and edged toward the bars, pressing his eye to them. “Can you find your meal? I can just see the edge of the plate.”
“I’d be much obliged for some help.”
So Kip directed Malcolm as best he could, and Malcolm eventually found the cup and plate just within his reach. “Would you like the rest of my water?” he asked. “I believe I’ve heard what became of yours.”
“Drink what you want and then I’ll take the rest.” Kip extended his paw through the bars and over to Malcolm again. “My paw’s where it was before.”
“Give me a moment.” Malcolm took a drink and then shifted around. The metal of the cup touched Kip’s fingers. “Careful now.”
Kip grasped the cup, keeping it upright. “Thank you,” he said, bringing it back.
“What do you think he meant by ‘the other’? Is it Richard?”
The water was warm and stale, but it was wonderful. Kip licked his lips. “That person we heard before is in the cell on the other side of me. I think it’s Richard but I don’t know for sure.”
“Richard?” Malcolm called.
They waited, but again there was silence. “What do you think Victor could have done to him?” Kip whispered.
“No telling.” Malcolm kept his voice low as well. “But if he’s turned Calatians into animals…”
Kip’s imagination took that speculation and went in some very unpleasant directions with it. “Ugh. Richard,” he called again. “You can talk to us. It’s all right.”
The only response was movement and then the slow scraping of the cup and plate across the stone. Crunching and drinking followed a moment later.
“Maybe that’s not Richard,” Malcolm said. “Richard would share.”
“I suspect that even if it used to be Richard, maybe it’s not anymore.”
