by Tim Susman
“Kip?” Malcolm said faintly. “You’re—-you again?”
“I’m me again. We’ve got some work to do.”
Malcolm gripped his paw. “Kip, he did something terrible, I think. Farley summoned him and he came back, and Farley said, “Now do it, like you said,” and he said, “Yes, you’ve more than earned this.” Then he did something to Farley, I don’t know what, but Farley was gone suddenly, and then Victor laughed, and it wasn’t a nice laugh. He told me he’d deal with me after, but then there was...”
“Kind of a silent explosion?”
“Yes! But magical.”
Chakrabarti came over to kneel on Malcolm’s other side. “Congratulations,” Kip said. “You’re now the only other sorcerer alive to be present at the destruction of a Great Feat.”
“What?” Malcolm sat up.
“Victor turned all the Calatians back into animals.” Every time he said it, the images flooded into Kip’s head no matter how much he wanted to avoid seeing them. “All except me and Alice and Abel. Maybe my parents. I haven’t checked on them.”
“What are we doing?”
“What happened after he cast the spell? After the explosion?”
“My head hurt. And I think someone fell outside my cell.”
“I’m going to go look. Chakrabarti, can you restore magic to him?”
“I am doing it,” the sorcerer said.
Kip walked to the bars of Malcolm’s cell and called up fire to eat away at the metal. He stepped through the gap and saw, to his right in front of the cell he’d been kept in, the body of Victor Adamson lying on the stone.
“What’s there?” Malcolm asked, standing.
Chakrabarti stepped out to join Kip. “That is Victor Adamson, is it not?”
“It is.” Kip walked over and examined the body. “He’s dead, Malcolm. Undoing a Great Feat killed him. Careful! The bars might still be warm.”
Bracing himself and feeling his way along the wall, Malcolm had approached the front of his cell. Kip hurried over to lead him out. “Ah, you’ve melted them. Nice trick, that,” Malcolm said.
“Where’s Corvi?” Kip asked.
“Somewhere in a cage.” Malcolm focused. “They caught him, I think. But the room looks empty. Hang on.”
He vanished. Kip turned to Chakrabarti. “For the next part of this, I have to summon a demon. I know how you feel about it and if you don’t want to watch, you don’t have to.”
“I thought you had decided not to use demons.” The sorcerer frowned slightly.
“I had. I have. This is a special case. And it’s not only because the stakes are so high. I’ll explain to you later, but...you’re right in your belief. And I think we can still work with demons, but differently than we have been.”
The frown turned to confusion. “I don’t think I understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either, not completely. But...stay if you want, or go if you want. We will need help rounding up all the animals on the Isle if this doesn’t work the way I hope it will.” He paused. “And maybe even if it does. I don’t know.”
The other sorcerer looked off into the distance. While he was pondering, Kip walked down the row of cells, past the tray of stale bread and the now upended cup and the beaver sleeping behind the bars, to where Richard had been. His student was still there, face pressed to the bars, but he jumped back as Kip came into view and then edged forward, never taking his eyes from the fox’s. “Richard?” Kip said. “Can you understand me?”
The young man frowned and then tilted his head. “It’s Master Penfold,” Kip went on. “Do you remember me?”
Still the blank, uncomprehending stare. Kip reached out a paw, and Richard tentatively reached out his hand to meet it. They clasped fingers until Malcolm returned, when Kip had to pull his paw away because Richard would not let go on his own.
Chakrabarti stopped his pacing then. He didn’t ask what Kip had been doing, and Kip did not think this was a good time to tell him that Victor had also learned to steal magic from humans. “I think,” the sorcerer said, “that I will withdraw for the moment. I will be most interested to discuss the matter of demons with you later, but it sounds like the discussion might be better saved for after the resolution of this situation.”
“Understood,” Kip said.
“Where would it be most useful for me to wait?”
“Go back to Peachtree, and Malcolm will come get you when we’re ready.”
“Aye.” Malcolm brushed a hand down his robes, black and clean.
Chakrabarti vanished, and Kip shook his head at Malcolm. “Did you steal someone’s robes?”
“They stole my raven. It seemed a fair trade to me. Besides, I was tired of smelling filthy. If only they fit better.” He rubbed hands down the voluminous folds again. “So what are we doing here?”
Kip drew in a breath. Malcolm and Farley were the only witnesses to Victor’s summoning, and Farley was gone. “Do you happen to remember the name Farley used to summon Victor?”
“He tried three times before using one that worked, and aye, I took note of it. Always remember what demons someone summons in front of you.”
Relief flooded Kip. Every step of this was an uncharted challenge, but this was one more success. Next came the actual summoning. “That was Victor’s sorcerer name. So…I’m going to summon and bind Victor.”
Malcolm eyed the body. “From beyond the grave?”
“I was in the Æther when he died. I saw him reappear there.” Kip stared down at his paws.
“Hang on.” Malcolm pressed a hand to his head. “You’re telling me that the demon plane is the afterlife? That demons are…”
“Spirits of the deceased, yes. At least some of them. They lose their memories when they arrive.”
“We don’t go to Heaven nor Hell, but…”
“Maybe later,” Kip said. “Nik did say that sometimes demons disappear. But yes, it looks like demons are the spirits of the deceased. Maybe only sorcerers.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Malcolm swore. “If I didn’t know you’d witnessed it, I’d be calling your mind into question. As it is…”
“I’d take you there if I thought we could return easily.” Kip put a paw on his shoulder. “But in the meantime, I’ll hope to convince you by summoning Victor as a demon.”
Malcolm shuddered. “I’ll trust you won’t play foolish games with leaving him unbound.”
“No. I hope he’ll be able to help me reverse what he did.”
“Even though he might have lost his memories and might appear as a centaur with serpents for legs?”
Kip stifled a nervous laugh. “I would be delighted if that happened. But he remembered me, at least. I think he’ll remember restoring my magic.”
“He did that?” Malcolm shook his head. “We’re going to have to have a good long tea with Em and Alice when we get back and hear what we’ve all been through.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Kip said, and then reflected. “Actually, you know more than half now. But yes. What was the name Farley used?”
Malcolm told him, and Kip pulled in magic. It seemed to come more easily to him now, but this attempt had to work, so he scraped his paw over a jagged edge of the bars of Malcolm’s cell and tasted the blood from the cut. There did not seem to be a difference in the level of magic he could hold, as far as he could tell; maybe traveling to the Æther had expanded his capabilities.
There would be time to think of that later. He gathered himself and spoke the words of the spell, reaching out into the demon plane with newfound familiarity. When he spoke the name, he felt the familiar catch as the spell pulled its target up and into the real world, reminding him of the crushing feeling he’d felt on his own return.
A blue mist rose in front of him. It coalesced into a human figure, which groaned as it assumed Victor’s features. Quickly, Kip spoke the binding spell, with no small measure of satisfaction: “Make no move save on my order; take no action save on my ord
er, but you may converse with me.”
“Penfold,” demon-Victor said.
“Ah, you know me. Good. I was worried you might not.”
“How could I not? It’s thanks to you that I’m here.”
“And thanks to you that I’m here.” Kip gestured to his body. “Don’t think I don’t know that you restored me even though you talked so much about wanting to see me humbled.”
“I wasn’t the one who wanted you on all fours in a collar. That was…” The cloudy smoke that defined his features shifted. “That was someone else.”
“Broadside.”
“Of course, of course.”
Kip studied the familiar and yet eerily changing face. “Tell me honestly: do you remember Farley Broadside?”
Demon-Victor answered promptly. “Yes.”
“Do you remember restoring my magic to me?”
The smoky eyebrows lowered into a glower. “Yes.”
Kip pointed to Richard, behind the demon. “Can you cast that spell on him?”
“I can, yes.”
“Then do so.”
The demon turned to Richard and then back to Kip. “It is done.”
“Richard?” The young man slouched with the same vacant expression, and did not respond to his name. Kip turned on Victor. “Why didn’t it work?”
“It was a spell to restore a Calatian from animal to Calatian state. He is not an animal.”
The fox clenched his teeth. “Cast another spell to restore him to exactly the state he was in before you drained the magic from him.”
“I do not know what state that was. I don’t remember him.”
Kip reframed words in his head. “Can you restore to him the magic essence that was taken from him?”
“Not without knowing how much was taken from him.”
Kip closed his eyes. “Can you restore to him the amount of magic that is in Malcolm O’Brien here?”
“How can I know how much that is?”
“You may observe only without taking any other action—if Malcolm gives you permission. And tell me when you’ve finished.” Kip turned to his friend.
“I don’t know, Kip,” Malcolm said. “Let Victor into my head?”
“I can have him find another human sorcerer somewhere,” Kip said. “There are—”
“No. I’ll do it. Rather me than some poor unsuspecting fool.” Malcolm took a deep breath. “But as soon as I say ’stop,’ he gets out of my head.”
Kip repeated the order, and then Malcolm gave his permission. All was still for perhaps two heartbeats, and then demon-Victor said, “I have finished.”
“Can you restore to Richard the amount of magic essence that is in Malcolm?”
“Yes.”
“Then do that, and that only, and tell me when you’ve finished.”
Demon-Victor bowed his head. The clouds making up his form roiled more intensely, and then he said, “I have finished.”
“Richard?” Kip called.
The wait stretched on forever as Kip and Malcolm stared past the bored demon-Victor, the fox with his ears cupped forward. Finally a shaky, familiar voice said, “M-Master Penfold?”
Malcolm strode quickly down to Richard’s cell, gathering magic, and the gate flew open and away as he arrived. He reached in and brought Richard out, the young man rubbing his forehead with a perplexed expression. “I…I thought I was dreaming. It was as if I was in a fog. But now I think perhaps it was real?”
“Can you take him back to Peachtree?” Kip asked Malcolm. “I’m going to set to the bigger task. Oh, and bring Jorey back.”
“Of course. I’ll return in a moment.” Malcolm and Richard vanished.
Left alone, Kip stared at demon-Victor. “Now,” he said, “I’ll need you to do the spell you used to restore me, but on a much larger scale.” The demon’s eyes darkened, turning from blue-grey to charcoal. “Victor, restore all the magic that you stole from the Calatians to the Calatians you stole it from, each and every one, leaving none of them out. Do it now.”
“Alas,” the demon said, “I cannot. My power is insufficient.”
“How can it be insufficient?” Kip cried. “You’re the one who took it from them in the first place, and now you’re a demon!”
“Power is enabled by will. If I were moved by the fanatical determination that the spell needed to be cast, then perhaps my power would be equal to it.” The eyes brightened to silver. “Now you, Penfold, you surely have the determination to enact such a spell.”
“Perhaps I do,” Kip said slowly. “But if I sacrifice myself, and the spell doesn’t work, who is left to make things right? No; this just means we will have to do this a more difficult way.”
Malcolm reappeared in time to hear this last sentence, holding the wicker box that contained Jorey. “What difficult way?” he asked.
“First, let’s see if this works.” Kip grasped the red squirrel with a spell and let the box fall away.
Jorey hung in the air, scrabbling wildly for purchase. “I’m sorry,” Kip murmured. “I remember how that feels.” He turned to demon-Victor. “Tell me the spell you used to restore my intelligence and form.”
In a grating voice like the scraping of metal over stone, the demon spoke the words of the spell. Kip ordered it to share the memory of the casting with him and Malcolm, and it did so, again as unpleasantly as it could, sharing the chaos of the Æther and the disdain it felt for Kip as part of the memory of the spell. But Kip thought he could piece together the casting of the spell if he had to, and until then…
“We will call this spell the Calatian Restoration spell, and when I use those words, you will cast that spell,” he ordered demon-Victor. “Now cast the Calatian Restoration spell on this squirrel and allow Malcolm and me to feel the casting of it.”
Demon-Victor resisted, but Kip’s binding held fast, and a moment later, he felt the energy flowing from the demon to Jorey. For a brief second, nothing happened. Had he misspoken? But no, Jorey’s form stretched and grew, expanded just as March’s had shrunk, until the squirrel as Kip had known him hung in the air.
Jorey looked around, bewildered, and then made a sound. His ears went back and he tried again. “Mas—Masters?”
Malcolm exhaled, a long breath. Kip lowered Jorey to the ground and ended his spell, whereupon the squirrel’s legs gave out and he fell to the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Kip said, though he couldn’t stop smiling. He extended a paw. “Are you all right?”
“I’m—” Jorey took the paw and tried to stand, but ended up falling into Kip, who wrapped an arm around him for support. “I haven’t been all right, but I, I think I’m all right now. I can talk. I can walk. I’m not in a box.”
“Sorry about that,” Malcolm said, “but we feared you might run off.”
“No, I, I would have.” Jorey ran a paw through the fur between his ears. “I was an animal.”
“You’re not anymore.” Kip kept an arm around him even as the squirrel gained confidence in his movements. “Can you stand?”
“I, ah, I think I can, but also, sir, I’m very sorry, but I’m not decent.”
Malcolm snorted a laugh. “You’re a sight more decent than you were a minute ago. Come on, son, let’s go back to the College and dress you. Kip, I’ll find you later.”
“You think you’ll be able to cast that spell?” Kip asked.
“Ah…not so’s I’d trust a life to it.” Malcolm squinted at demon-Victor. “But if we have no other options, well, me ma used to say, if you’ve only half a cup of sugar, that’ll have to do.”
“I feel the same,” Kip said. “I hope we’ll have time to learn it.”
“And no cause to use it.” Malcolm took Jorey by the paw. “Here we go, lad, prepare yourself.” And a moment later, they were gone.
Demon-Victor watched them go and then said, “You cannot intend to have me cast the spell on every single Calatian.”
“Every one we can find.” Kip lifted the beaver that had been Mar
ch with magic. “Come on. Let’s go down to the Isle.”
The Isle of Dogs was in chaos. The first place Kip visited was the bridge to the mainland, where terrified guards had thrown boards and rubble across the street to stop the animals from crossing into London proper. Kip and Malcolm improved on the barricade, sealing it with river mud and stones to keep in all the animals from the wolves down to the mice. Demon-Victor continued to resist his orders, but Kip’s binding held; he collected the larger animals first and made demon-Victor restore magic to them.
Once the restored Calatians had been made aware of what had happened, they helped round up the remaining animals on the Isle. Most of them, anyway; some of the mice and dormice were never found, and at least one of the rabbits was killed by a predator (though nobody claimed to remember doing it). Several otters, too, had apparently slipped into the Thames and never returned.
But there was also a moment when Kip presented demon-Victor with a number of mice gathered by magic, and the demon said, “Two of those were not Calatians.”
“Which ones?” Kip asked, but Pierce, now at his side while Malcolm was fetching more Calatians to restore, drew him away.
“Why not see if it can make them Calatians?” the otter asked. “There’s nobody here but us, so if it goes wrong, we just…change them back. But it could be a marvelous thing.”
“It seems wrong,” Kip said. “Nobody’s asked them if they want to be Calatians.”
“Nobody asked us at first either.”
“So we should perpetrate the same callous act on others?”
Pierce snorted. “Callous? Don’t you feel it’s been a blessing? You’ve fought harder than anyone to preserve our race.”
“I know. I think we should have debates, discuss the idea with others. The two of us won’t necessarily see all that might result if we go down that path. Let’s restore the ones who need it first.”
“Why not just see if it works?” Pierce said. “Then we’ll know where we are in the discussions. Look,” he said when Kip hesitated. “Think about what it would mean. Think about how many of us stay here on this God-forsaken Isle only because we’re sure to find a mate here. You’ve started us spreading around the world. This could be…” His eyes shone in the dim room. “The beginning of a new age of Calatians.”
