by Tim Susman
De Koning, who had been very quiet during this part, raised a hand. Emily acknowledged him. “Er. I am only here a short time,” he said, “and I had thought I was here to teach healing and spiritual magic to students?”
“You are.” Emily inclined her head. “If you would prefer not to participate in our school’s new work, you will not have to.”
The young man sat back, looking around at the rest of the sorcerers. “Oh. I did not mean—that is, of course I will be happy to help. But will I be mending small cuts for children?”
“I don’t think so.” Emily smiled. “There will be enough serious injuries for healers to tend to, and only two of them here at our school.”
“Even basic physical and translocation spells can be immensely useful,” Kip said. “Moving a stone in a field could save a farmer an entire day. Translocation needn’t just be for London Calatians and their Amsterdam families; there are many farmers who have left one territory of this new country to find work in another who also miss their families.”
Emily nodded. “President Adams has spoken often of the need to bring all the former colonies together in the new country. But I do hope that we can make this work beneficial for all of us as well as our friends and our country. Master Chakrabarti has told us that the work reminds us of the world we live in so that our own work, the research and exploration we do in the world of sorcery, can be done with that in mind as well.”
“If we know what people need,” Kip added, “we can make sorcery beneficial to everyone, not just the governments. Kings controlling sorcerers, that’s only how it is in Europe, not all over the world.”
“We’re starting a new country,” Emily added. “There’s no reason to keep all the old traditions without examining them.”
“Especially,” Malcolm added, “if the old traditions don’t pay you the same under the new government.”
“Quite. If we were getting as much money as the American School—or even half as much,” Emily said, “we wouldn’t have to do this. But after talking to Master Chakrabarti…I want to.” She stood straighter. “More than just helping the people around us, I want to help this country. I want to do it in small and large ways that we can see in repaired roads and buildings, in the smiles of people greeting us as we go from one city to another…”
“And in the coffers of the school,” Malcolm said, which was met with a round of laughter.
“That too, of course.” Emily smiled. “There are five masters plus an accomplished apprentice here.”
“I make it six masters,” de Koning said. “I will join you. After all, I am here to learn, am I not?”
“So are we all,” Kip said.
They discussed more particulars, and everyone had something useful to add to the plan. But when Emily seemed ready to dismiss the meeting, Master Argent stood. “Master Vendis and I thought there would be one more topic discussed at this meeting.” He looked at Kip, and the fox knew what he was about to say. “We have witnessed remarkable feats of sorcery these past few days. Not only the draining of magic essence from the Calatians, but its restoration to them. And I believe every sorcerer has asked the question: has Penfold been creating new Calatians as well as restoring them? Can he do that?” He smiled. “Master Vendis and I discussed this subject at length two nights ago, and now we are in the fortunate position of being able to ask the master himself.”
Kip nodded and stood. “A friend of mine brought this to my attention on the Isle, the first night we were restoring Calatians. We talked about it there, and I have discussed it with Calatians in New Cambridge, Amsterdam, and here in Peachtree. We have reached an agreement of sorts.” He did not feel it necessary to go into the hours of argument that had preceded the agreement, between people who wanted to expand the ranks of Calatians as much as possible and those who preached necessity and caution. Bryce Morgan, the Calatian mayor of Peachtree, had done an excellent job of crafting a compromise. “We will ask each of the major Calatian communities to provide a list of the species most in need of new blood, and once a year we will visit each of those communities to create new ones. We thought that around the Feast of Calatus might be appropriate.”
Vendis rocked forward, almost standing. “So you’ve tried it? It works?”
“No, not yet.” Kip pressed his paws together. “It was important to decide how we were going to approach this before we even tried it. But I think it will work. The thing we don’t know—we can’t know—is how these new Calatians will react to their…new state. That may be the piece of the Great Feat that we just can’t replicate. And if we do create new Calatians, they might not like their new state. They will be offered the option to return to their animal state if they prefer it.”
“May I be present when you do try?” Vendis asked. “I would dearly love to witness this.”
“As would I,” Argent said, and Chakrabarti and de Koning chorused their agreement.
“It would be helpful to have other sorcerers present, but I will have to ask the others. We have agreed that all the decisions will be made by this group.”
“You’ve made a ruling council of Calatians,” Argent observed with a smile.
“No,” Kip protested, but Emily cut him off.
“They have,” she said, “and it’s about time, if you ask me.”
Vendis nodded and smiled. “Truly this is a time of many changes.” He rubbed his hands together. “If I’m honest, I have been a touch bored without a royal commission to work on. Teaching students is lovely, but there aren’t many of them, and even a talented apprentice,” he inclined his head toward Alice, “can only keep one’s mind occupied for a portion of a day. So let us go out to the townspeople! I welcome this challenge.”
“If you’ll all come with me,” Kip said, “there’s a thing I want to do that I’d like everyone to be here for.”
He led them out of the College, where Ash swooped down to his shoulder immediately, and down the front path to where the large iron gates rested against the brick gatehouses. “We built these because it was traditional; we were modeling it after the new buildings at the American College, back when it was Prince George’s. But as Emily and I were talking over this new way we wanted to conduct our school, it made less sense to model our school on the American School. And one of the things that we decided we don’t need are…”
He called magic and lifted the gates carefully away from the brick, moving them to either side. Everyone remained quiet as the large wrought-iron pieces floated away, leaving the path between the college and the town clear. Kip set them down in the grass to either side. “These gates. Our school is open to everyone.”
“Well said.” Malcolm patted the shoulder that did not have a raven on it.
“Come on.” Emily gestured to the road down to Peachtree. “I’ll buy everyone a drink at the Buried Crown.”
“No need to offer twice.” Vendis fell in behind her, and the others with him.
Alice took Kip’s paw. “It’s going to be an exciting few years.”
“I hope not,” he said fervently, and walked with her out through the gate houses and into the town.
Epilogue
A Philosophical Discussion
TWO YEARS LATER
Kip found the Welcoming exhausting, and not just for the expenditure of magical energy. There had been satisfaction in using demon-Victor to make more Calatians at first, but this year, summoning the creature brought more and more distaste, a reminder of a period Kip would rather forget. He and Malcolm had been present at most castings of the spell, and perhaps next year they would try it without demon-Victor before the blue specter could become a tradition at these rituals.
This year they had chosen all baby or infant animals, which decision had been the subject a good deal of discussion. One group argued that infants could not understand their right to have the transformation undone, and so using them was immoral, but the other group, who won the day, pointed out that they had already placed the need of their race ahea
d of the immorality of the transformation and that only one adult had exercised their right to reversal. Besides, everyone could see that the youngest from last year’s new Calatians had adapted best of any of them. A few of that group, cubs and adults, had attended this year and helped greatly; even though they only had a few dozen words of spoken language, they knew very well what it was like to find themselves in a new body, and they knew the body language of reassurance and comfort.
Even without their help, though, Kip thought this Welcoming would have been more successful. He knew better what a successful transformation felt like and had improved this year over last. Next time would be better, and the one after that better yet. Perhaps one day he would be able to replicate what Calatus had done four hundred years ago—creating fully functional adult Calatians from animals—but in the back of his mind, he suspected that the price of that achievement would be his life, so he was content with his small progress.
He left Abel with the Welcomers on the Isle. The fox had shown quite the talent for bringing new Calatians along in Peachtree, so had asked if he could come to the Isle this year, and Kip had been glad to bring him. He hadn’t told Abel, nor anyone else, of the other purpose of his visit to London this spring, the one that had taken him a year and a half to arrange.
A soft misting rain hung about in the springtime air as he crossed the bridge to London proper, showing his papers to the guards who remained stationed there. Moving from the Isle into streets full of humans was slightly jarring to his eyes and nose, but he was well used to crowds of humans and he strode forward confidently, Ash bobbing on his shoulder and occasionally croaking when someone stared too long at her.
As he walked, he pulled out the small pamphlet Pierce had given him, with the crude drawing of a fox-Calatian and what he supposed to be King George, judging by the crown on the otherwise generic human’s head. Underneath, the title, “The King’s Master,” brought a smile to his muzzle. Emily would like this newest addition to her collection, he thought as he tucked it back in his pocket.
He stayed mostly to the banks of the Thames, looking as he often did for otters in the river, just in case after two years any of the missing returned toward their home. Here and there he had to cut inland, past narrow dirty homes and merchants’ shops. At the entrance to a public-house, a young hedgehog in a dirty apron sweeping the front stoop looked up as Kip walked by, then down again. But Kip had barely gone three more steps when the broom clattered to the stone and the hedgehog rushed up behind him to clutch at the arm of his robe.
“Excuse me, but…”
As soon as Kip turned, the hedgehog’s words dried up. Kip smiled down at him. “It’s all right,” he said.
“You’re…” The hedgehog swallowed. “You’re Master Penfold?”
“I am.”
For a moment, the young hedgehog just rubbed his paws down the front of his apron, seemingly frozen, and then the words poured out of him. “I never got a chance to say thank-you, years ago, but I remember you and everything you did. For me and my family, I mean, and really, well, all of us.”
“You’re most welcome.” Kip inclined his head.
“And I came out to Peachtree to see my friend. Er, Barton, his name is.”
“Oh!” Kip’s ears perked. “The marten.”
“Aye. Barton the marten, we call him.” The hedgehog chuckled nervously. “We thought we might get to thank you on that occasion, but Barton said you was busy.”
“Yes, I remember, he told me. You came out, and there was a mouse with you as well?”
“A dormouse, aye, sir. That’d be Jenks. We had such a lovely time, and we both think we might like to live in Peachtree one day, if we can find work.”
“You’d leave the Isle?”
The hedgehog glanced up. “I live over the pub now. There’s many of us living out in the city. Peachtree feels like it might be a touch warmer.”
“A touch,” Kip said. “We are a growing town and there is often work. Ask Barton to keep his nose to the wind for you. Was it Jorey who brought you to visit?”
“No, sir, it was Mistress Penfold. She brings a lot of us from the Isle to Peachtree.”
Kip tried not to smile too much. “Yes, I know.”
“Of course you do.” The hedgehog tsked at himself. “I’m sorry, sir, of course you’d know.”
“What was your name?”
It took the hedgehog two tries to get it out. The first came out as a raspy wheeze, and then he said, “William, sir.”
“Well, William, it’s been a great pleasure to see you. I’m afraid I have an appointment, but I’ll see you again in Peachtree, I’m sure. Barton will be able to bring you back there himself in a year or so, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Yes, sir!” William clapped his paws together. “It’s so wonderful, him being magical and all. I still can’t believe it. My friend, a sorcerer!”
“Just a student right now, but hopefully an apprentice next year.” Kip smiled.
“Indeed.” William bowed. “I’m so sorry, sir, I won’t keep you any longer.”
He hurried back to his public-house stoop, and Kip walked on with a little more bounce to his tail.
The four spires of the Tower of London rose ahead of him, seeming to be a short walk away, but each street brought him only a little closer. By the time he finally stood at the grounds of the great castle, the rain had soaked through his robe and dampened his fur, his tail twice as heavy with the water in it. Though the drizzle remained steady, the sun peeked through a crack in the clouds, setting one wall of the tower shining white as though a fire glowed beneath it, and then the gap closed and the castle went back to its dull wet gleam against the dark sky.
After ten minutes of walking around the grounds, Kip came to the gate house, where a uniformed soldier came out, his bored expression changing very little. “Business?” he asked.
“Official.” Kip produced the oilskin pouch that held his papers.
The guard read them and replaced them. “That door there,” he pointed as he walked across the moat bridge to open the gate. “You’ll find the Yeoman Warder on duty there. He’ll direct you further.”
Kip followed the guard, then passed through the gate and walked on by himself to the small stone building. As he approached the door, a raven alit on the roof just over it and cawed down at them. Ash looked up and answered, an instinctive reaction, nothing that Kip understood. But it made sense to the other raven, who quieted and watched them.
Inside, amid the strong smell of tea and unwashed men, an older man in a dark blue uniform with red trim stood from a chair by a crackling fire to greet Kip. His uniform resembled Kip’s robe in form except that the upper half, above the wide belt, was all of a piece rather than being clasped together as Kip’s was. The man smiled over spectacles as he brought a squat top hat with a red circle on it to rest on his head. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Here to see one of the prisoners.” Kip held out the oilskin again.
The Yeoman Warder took the paper and read it. “Ah, yes, this fellow. You know, you’re the first Calatian to visit the Tower?”
“Indeed?” Kip stood awkwardly, aware of his robe dripping on the floor.
“Oh, aye. We see them on the streets, but none have been important enough to be imprisoned here or to visit anyone. You’re the first. So far as I know, but I been here thirty years and I’ve never heard of another.”
“I’m honored, I suppose,” Kip said.
The Warder replaced the paper in the pouch and handed it back to Kip. “All this seems in order. He’s warded, you understand, so if you had any thought of casting spells they wouldn’t work. Our Master Dryden is quite adept at that sort of thing.”
“Ah,” Kip said. “Is that whose raven greeted us as we came in?”
“Could be, but we’ve a score of rooks living on the grounds, so more likely it was Jerry. She’s the curious one about visitors. Speaking of, you’ve a fine specimen with you there.”
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br /> “Thank you.” Kip touched Ash’s beak, and the raven rubbed back against his finger. “She’s been with me for years.”
“Lovely.” The Warder turned to his right and hollered at a doorway. “Oi! Fergens! Escort, if you’d be so kind.” To Kip, he said, “Warder Fergens will take you up to the prisoner.”
“Thank you,” Kip said. “And to be clear, I’ve no intention of using sorcery or anything else. I just want to talk.”
The Warder nodded. “That’s all they ever do, is talk, but they do it often enough. Never sent a Calatian before, though.” He turned back toward the open door. “Fergens!”
Another Warder appeared, fastening his belt, a young man whose reddish hair stuck out at odd angles underneath his dark blue hat. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “Tower ain’t gonna fall down, is it? Cor!” He spotted Kip and stopped. “I’m escorting a Calatian, am I?”
“If that’s all right,” Kip said, wary.
“Oh aye!” He strode across the room and extended a great ruddy hand. “Name’s Fergens. Pleasure to meet you, Master Fox.”
“Penfold.” Kip shook the hand.
“Master Penfold. All right, let’s go on.” Fergens took a ring of keys from the other Warder and then examined Kip. “Want to hang that robe to dry by the fire?”
Kip took off the wet robe, causing Ash to hop on top of his head while he pulled the wet cloth from his shoulders. He hesitated a moment; he could easily burn away the water with a simple spell. But he didn’t want to do sorcery here, even a minor harmless spell, even at the cost of not wearing his sorcerer’s robe to this meeting. So he gave the robe to the older Warder, who hung it by the fire, and, dressed only in his tunic, the fox followed Fergens down a hallway and into the Tower.
It had been clear to him when he first saw it that this White Tower had inspired the design of the White Tower at the American College two centuries ago. That White Tower didn’t have the spires at each corner and it was smaller, maybe a fifth the size. But the shape of it called across the ocean to its eponym, and the founders had clearly tried to find stone that matched as well as possible to the Kentish rag-stone that Kip brushed with his fingers here.
