Mrs Wilson was out of sight. I climbed the rock wall and danced along the top, my letters forgotten. The butcher’s wife wouldn’t have been so sympathetic if she’d known I wasn’t planning to come back. So what if no girl had gone before? I would walk the challenge path myself, and take my case to the Fire Warlock.
We’re Off to See the Warlock
Should I be worried about the challenges ahead? I went through the motions of fixing dinner like an automaton. Each of the magic guilds maintained a challenge path by which a supplicant could gain an audience with the head of the guild. In the case of the Fire Guild, both the folklore and Father’s books agreed there were three challenges, although no one seemed to know what they were. I shrugged. I couldn’t force myself to fret. There wasn’t enough to go on to make any planning worthwhile, and the stories said a clever head and a stout heart were all one needed to get through them. I thought I had both of those, although I would never know for sure if I stayed in Lesser Campton.
If I did pass the challenges, what then? I conjured up an image of a peevish old man asking me the question that made my chest tighten, Why should he help me?
The Warlock would have no sympathy for a mundane girl who wanted books. Rumour said his library had a copy of every book on magic ever written, but I wasn’t a witch, I didn’t need to read spells. Father had kept all his books on magic locked up, and never allowed me near them.
Please, Your Wisdom, I don’t want much—just to eat, sleep, and breathe in your library. The old man scowled and chewed me out for getting above myself. I asked for adventure; he scolded me for not acting respectable. I asked him to help me find a husband; he jeered at me.
I put down my knife and leaned on the table. Losing a finger would not augur well for walking the challenge path. After I stopped trembling, I took a deep breath and picked up the knife, not letting my attention waver. Mother Janet would complain the chunks of carrot were too big. Too bad.
So what if he laughed at me? The purpose of the Office of the Fire Warlock was to protect the nation’s women and children. I was harmless; he wouldn’t harm me. The stories said that he approved of boldness, at least in boys, so he might help me. But if I asked for help in finding a match, small blame to him if he did laugh at me. If that’s what I wanted, I should go to the Earth Mother or the Frost Maiden for help, not the Warlock.
I had considered going to one or the other. A day’s walk would take me to a gate leading to the Frost Maiden’s Crystal Palace, but the thought of asking that chilly witch for aid left me, well, cold.
I would rather go to the Earth Mother. Both she and the Fire Warlock had gates in the city of Gastòn, but a three-day walk through forest, sleeping in the open and depending on the kindness of strangers, would have been a desperate venture even for a boy. There were too many stories of robbers setting on solitary men, beating them, stripping them of their clothes, and leaving them to die in isolated places. An unescorted girl could not expect even the courtesy of being left to die.
Besides, if I could have gotten to Gastòn, I would not have gone to the Earth Mother. I would have made a beeline for the Fire Warlock’s gate, pulled like a moth to a flame, as I was being pulled now to the one in Rubierre.
Mother Janet went upstairs to take her nap after dinner. I was in the kitchen washing up when Claire came sweeping in. “Lucinda, our prayers have been answered. The Fire Warlock has opened a gate in Rubierre!”
I studied her for a moment. Her blue eyes sparkled and her skin glowed as if she had a new beau. Why did the news excite her? If her affinity wasn’t for the Water Guild, I’d cook one of Father’s law books and serve it for breakfast. “So?”
She pouted. “You already knew, and didn’t tell me?”
“Why should I? You don’t have an affinity for the Fire Guild.”
“No, but you do, and you’re going to walk the challenge path to see him, aren’t you? Unless you are happy about being an old maid?”
I scowled at her, but didn’t answer.
“You are going to see the Warlock, aren’t you?” she repeated. “You have to, if we’re ever going to get out of this God-forsaken little village.”
We? Conversations with Claire often left me feeling muzzy-headed. I hadn’t won an argument with her in years.
“Claire, girls don’t go to the Warlock.”
“Then why do you always talk about the Fire Warlock whenever I mention one of the other gates? Lucinda, please say you’re going. Pretty please?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, ready to spill out if I said no.
“All right, I know you won’t tell Mother Janet. I’m going tomorrow.”
“Wonderful!” She beamed at me. “I’m going with you.”
I dropped the handful of cutlery I’d been about to toss in the dishpan, and gaped at her.
She giggled, showing her dimples. “Lucinda, you look so funny with your mouth open.”
I closed it, and looked down at the spoons littering the floor. They could wait. “Claire, that’s ridiculous. The Warlock won’t be interested in finding you a husband. You’d be better off going to the Frost Maiden.”
She waved my objection away with a flick of her hand. “She’s too far away. He’s a man, even if he is a wizard. He’ll do whatever I want once he sees me.”
Probably true. Everybody turned into a mound of quivering jelly on meeting Claire. “Have you forgotten the three challenges? You’re not going to get close enough to talk to him.”
“Of course I will. We’ll walk the challenge path together, and you’ll help me.”
I gaped at her again. She laughed—the merry, tinkling laugh that made men grovel—and said, “Are you going to pick up the spoons?”
“Spoons? Oh.” I picked up the dirty spoons and shoved them in my apron pocket. “Claire, I have never heard of two people going to see him together. Ever. It’s always a one-person quest. And if we make him angry, well…”
“Well, what? You keep reminding everybody he’s there to protect the country’s women and children. What’s the worst he’ll do to us—send us home?”
Hoist by my own petard, I was. Through clenched teeth I said, “He’ll give us a good tongue-lashing, at least.”
“Since when has a scolding ever bothered you? Besides, the peddler who brought the news said I should go, and I shouldn’t be afraid. He said His Wisdom is really an old dear with a soft spot for pretty girls.”
“What? Who is this peddler and why is he spouting nonsense about the Fire Warlock?” I shook my head, but it didn’t help. Was Claire that naïve? “Getting through the challenges just guarantees an audience with the Warlock. You’ll still have to convince him you deserve his aid, and if he does condescend to help you, you’ll have to work for him for a year.”
She said, “But we’ll be together and can help each other out. It’ll be easier and more fun than working alone. Please, Lucinda, let me come with you. If you go away without me, I’ll be stuck here forever. I’ll never get out of here without help.” Her lip trembled; her eyes brimmed with tears again.
I said, “I don’t know if I can get through the challenges myself.”
“Of course you can. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and you’re even braver than the hostler in Old Campton.”
She smiled her most winning smile. My head fizzed as if I’d downed three glasses of champagne. I was smart, I was brave, and I marvelled at how perceptive she was. My objections drowned under a wave of affection, and I promised we would go together. We made plans to leave at dawn, and then she waltzed away down the hall and up the stairs.
As soon as she was out of sight the surge of affection evaporated. My blood boiled. It seemed strange there was no steam rising from the dishwater my hands were in. If we spent the next year together in the Warlock’s fortress she would captivate every man there, as she had here. I would have no more chance of finding a g
ood match than I would in the village, even with the Warlock’s help.
I was the smart one, was I? Then why did I let her talk me into something I didn’t want to do? I slammed the cast-iron skillet into the dishwater, sending a fountain cascading down the front of my dress and onto the floor. Getting drenched did not make me feel any better. Or smarter.
Hypocrite. I shouldn’t call other people mounds of jelly when I couldn’t stand up to Claire either. This wasn’t the first time. Or was it? As I mopped up the water, I groped for memories that stayed stubbornly out of reach, and seemed to recede further the more I struggled.
I sat back on my heels, and discovered the mess the sticky spoons had made in my apron pocket. I flung them in the dishwater. Why did I think I had what it takes to get through the challenges? I couldn’t even congratulate myself on my audacity; Claire’s idea was more daring. What would the Fire Warlock say when two girls came together? And what if I was wrong, and the challenge path was life threatening? What right did I have to risk not only my own life, but Claire’s, too?
I wasn’t making her go. If she got scared, she could turn around and go home, but I would go the whole way, and I would see the Warlock and his fabled Fortress. I went back to my chores with a light heart. Even if the Fire Warlock refused to help me, I’d have a day of glory and come home with a story to tell my grandchildren. I wasn’t afraid of the challenge path, and I had more sense than Claire. I would avoid anything truly dangerous, such as imagining the Fire Warlock was an old dear with a soft spot for pretty girls.
Nerves kept me from sleeping well, and I was up well before dawn. Getting Claire up was another matter. I couldn’t make much noise with Mother Janet in the next room, but whispering didn’t work. Neither did pinching Claire, nor shaking her.
Let her sleep. I would go without her. I started down the stairs, but stopped and paced a tight circle on the landing. Father had gotten angrier about broken promises than for any other transgression, and I couldn’t do it. I bolted down the stairs and out to the springhouse to fetch a pitcher of cold water, and dribbled it onto her face while holding my hand over her mouth. She glared at me as she awoke. I couldn’t suppress a smirk.
When I was confident she wouldn’t go back to sleep, I went to the library and pulled out the two histories Father had written my name in. I had spent most of the previous afternoon there, caressing one book after another. If we passed the challenges and the Warlock accepted our requests, Mother Janet would sell them all in the year we were away. I ran my fingers over the spines of my other old friends with burning eyes and a tight throat. They seemed to shrink from my faithless fingers. I turned and fled.
The two books, wrapped in my other dress, went into a bundle with bread and cheese, and the rest of my belongings—a hairbrush, and a few small trinkets of my mother’s. I waited for Claire by the back door with the light load slung over my shoulder. She came down the stairs carrying nothing besides a small purse that jingled as she moved. I ground my teeth. In a louder voice than I intended, I said, “Aren’t you taking anything? Food? Clothes? A hairbrush?”
She said, “When we’re living in the Warlock’s castle I’ll send for my clothes.”
“Mother Janet won’t be happy about the expense, or the work involved.”
She shrugged. “Mother won’t be happy about us leaving either, but we won’t be here for her to yell at.” She walked out the door without a backward glance.
I lingered for a moment, taking a last look around the kitchen. I had done all the cooking and cleaning because I couldn’t have stomached living here if I hadn’t. My mother’s gleaming pots reproached me for my treachery in leaving them to Mother Janet’s slovenliness. I wiped away tears and hurried after Claire.
The sky was lightening as we passed the village commons. In Old Campton I pushed a note under the pastor’s door asking him to let Mother Janet know where we had gone. Going home to her hurt feelings and the villagers’ jeers would be unbearable. Whatever happened, I could not turn back now.
The Gate
The morning was cold when we started out, but the sun came up in a cloudless sky, and once we were out of the shadows the walk was pleasant, enlivened by the fresh green hint of new leaves in the trees and the yellow of daffodils bobbing by the side of the road. I bobbed back at them, and laughed when Claire giggled.
A mile short of Rubierre, a farm wagon came up behind us. I was tired and my skirts muddy, so I hailed the boy driving and asked if we could ride.
He shook his head. “Sorry. My dad said not to stop for nobody.”
Claire turned and smiled at him. She looked as fresh as when we had started out. “I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind if you let us ride.”
He gawked, and drew rein. “No, I guess he wouldn’t.”
Everyone acted that way on meeting Claire. Even to my jaundiced eyes, she was lovely—small and delicate, like a china doll, with long lashes, and pale skin. She brought out the most chivalric behaviour in men. I had overheard several of her suitors making wild promises about protecting and taking care of her. Nobody made promises like that to me.
The boy climbed down and helped Claire up onto the seat, then climbed back up.
There wasn’t room on the seat for three. I tossed my bundle in the back and clambered over the side. I was lowering myself to the bed of the wagon when it started moving, and I sat down with a thud on the hard floorboards.
As I rubbed my rump, I said, “Today isn’t a market day, is it? Where are you headed?”
The boy didn’t answer. He just stared at Claire.
Claire asked, “Where are you headed?”
The boy started telling her about his errand.
I fumed. Did I need to look helpless in order to get some attention? I was taller than Claire, with muscles in my arms and browner skin from hard work and playing outdoors. I doubted I could look helpless, even if I wanted to. I’d laugh at any man who thought I should. And I’d rather be a servant than marry one of Claire’s halfwit suitors.
When Gladys, the old fire witch, had visited my mother she would usually hand me a sweet and say, “Pity you have no talent, the guild could use clever ones like you.” I once protested that I was glad I was not a witch, and she tsked at me. “Eh, maybe you aren’t so clever. If you were a witch, you could earn your own way. You wouldn’t have to marry if you didn’t want to. Think about that, now.”
I had, and knew she was right. I would have been better off as a witch, but some part of me, impervious to logic, proclaimed I was glad I was not one.
The boy dropped us off a block from the town square. I thanked him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring at Claire as he drove away.
I suggested we go to the square and ask directions, since we didn’t know where the gate was. We walked around the apothecary’s shop on the corner, and discovered we didn’t need directions. A massive wrought iron gate, with the Fire Guild’s flame emblem picked out in gold leaf in the centre, stood directly across the square.
Claire and I had been to Rubierre many times before. The town square consisted of a small lawn with a gazebo and a few trees, surrounded by cobblestone streets, with shops and merchants’ houses on three sides. On the fourth, the north side, the church and town hall sat side by side. Now this gate, wide enough to drive a coach and six through with plenty of room to spare, separated the church and the town hall. How could even magic squeeze a gate that wide between them? The two buildings looked no different, neither did the square.
I had read stories about magic all my life, but I had never encountered any substantial displays. I set down my baggage, and we looked at each other. Claire’s eyes were round. She asked, “How did he do that?”
“I don’t know. An illusion spell? But illusions are the Air Guild’s domain. Doesn’t matter, I’m impressed.”
We crossed the street to the gazebo and took stock. Th
e bundle that had weighed nothing at all in Lesser Campton had become an instrument of torture, and I dropped it with a grateful sigh. I kicked off my shoes, too, and sat down. Claire had complained more than once that her new shoes pinched her toes, but she didn’t sit. I massaged my shoulders and arms where the cord had dug in while studying the gate ahead of us.
The gate itself was in two pieces that opened inwards, each half mounted on a pillar of the same light yellow stone used in most of the local buildings. A thick stand of trees lay behind the gate—there had been no wooded area in the middle of town before—with a cobblestone drive curving away to the right and out of sight. In front of each pillar a guardsman, dressed in the Fire Guild’s red and orange livery, stood at attention with a pike in hand. A third guardsman, older than the other two, paced between them.
“What do we do now?” Claire asked.
“Talk to the guards, I suppose.”
“Let’s go, then.” She swept out of the gazebo, leaving me fumbling with my shoes and baggage. She was halfway across the lawn, turning towards the guard on the right, before I got my shoes on.
I hurried to catch up with her, glancing at the guard on the left as I went. He was watching me. Had I met him before? Impossible. I’d never met any guards.
He winked at me, and I recognised, under the guard’s gaudy hat and uniform, one of the boys from the large flock of children raised on the farm down the lane from us. “George!” What was he doing here? I hadn’t seen him in several months, since he’d left the village looking for work.
The Locksmith Page 2
