The Warlock’s frown deepened. I slumped in my chair, and wiped clammy palms on my skirt. Shut up, Claire. Please, just shut up.
He said, “This is a working fortress, not a pleasure palace. How do you intend to perform your year’s service without some drudgery?”
“Oh, there isn’t anything I can do for you, so I don’t expect that you’ll keep me. Lucinda can cook and do other housework. She can do the year’s service for me.”
I gasped. His glance flicked to me again. I met his eyes, and got a hint of the power he held in check. From his relaxed demeanour he could have been on a Sunday picnic, but his eyes were smouldering, and vividly alive.
He said, “While I agree your sister—”
“Stepsister,” she said.
“Ah, yes, thank you for the correction. I agree that your stepsister will be a more interesting addition to my staff, and she should be encouraged to keep her distance from you, but it is a requirement that supplicants sacrifice a year’s labour in return for my aid. If you are not willing to do so I cannot help you.”
I stared at him. Me, more interesting than Claire? My heart leapt. Reason said, I don’t believe it.
Claire smiled her most bewitching smile at him, the one showing the dimples. “I’m sure that’s a minor difficulty.”
The Warlock still looked relaxed, but his voice was stern. “Certainly not.”
I sat up straight. Claire looked shocked.
He said, “It is a requirement of the Office, and not one I can change, so your attempt to enthral me with a glamour spell would be wasted even if I had no shield against it. You failed at the challenges I set. You are here only because you abuse your sister’s, ah, stepsister’s generosity, and as I expect you will similarly abuse any man you marry, I will not have that on my conscience.”
A glamour spell? That would explain so much. Why had that never occurred to me? I wanted to believe it, but it made no sense. Father had had her tested for magical talent, too. She had none.
Two guards appeared, out of nowhere. “Guards, escort this young woman—” the Warlock ordered.
Was he dismissing both of us? I started to rise, but he waved a finger at me. “You, stay there.” He turned back to the guards. “Escort her out of my presence before she becomes any more tiresome. She may wait by the stairs until I am done with her stepsister.”
They took her by the arms, and she tried to shake them off, snapping, “How dare you? Get your hands off me!” They took no heed and marched her away, chittering like an angry squirrel.
I sank back into the chair, and stared at him, my stomach turning somersaults. A single rebuke from the Fire Warlock would hurt worse than all of Mother Janet’s ineffectual scolding, but I deserved it.
The Warlock picked up his cup again, and waited until the clamour died away. “Now, my dear, what can I do for you?”
Requests
What could the Fire Warlock do for me?
I blurted, “Aren’t you going to scold me for bringing Claire?” I bit my lip. I had been sorry, at the age of five, after I asked Mother why she hadn’t punished me for biting the ferryman.
The Warlock said, “Berate you for falling victim to magic you have no defence for? That would be unworthy of me, surely? You succeeded; she did not. What do you wish for?”
That question again. I looked down at my shoes. “Your Wisdom, I know I shouldn’t waste your time on something silly.”
“Yours will not be the most ludicrous request I have heard in the past century. All who come this far have some strong purpose driving them, even if they cannot articulate it or it seems trivial to others. It is important to them, and that is what matters.”
I looked up and met his eyes. They had been smouldering, but were now tranquil. He regarded me calmly over the rim of his cup as he took another sip.
“But, Your Wisdom, you make it sound as if the challenge path was an ordeal. Those challenges weren’t as hard as I expected. Why?”
Both eyebrows shot upward. “Not hard? You do not consider a lion charging you a threat?”
“Well, of course it is, sir, but you have a reputation for being fair, not wicked, so you must have bewitched it to keep it from actually attacking us. The lion was supposed to frighten us back into the park, but if we went back in we’d have failed.”
He smiled. “You are too clever by half. Did you see that when he charged you?”
“No, sir. Only the part about not going back in the park. He did scare me, and I wanted to turn and run. It was only after he stopped that I realised that was the purpose.”
“So, you stood up to him even while you were frightened. You have courage. Now what of the other two challenges?”
“The maze was a test of clear thinking and trust, and the test with the guards was about dealing with people and having good manners. My grandmother always said that good manners were more about treating people with respect and putting them at ease than knowing which teaspoon to use.”
“Quite so. It is remarkable how few people understand that. Your surmise is correct; the challenge path is easier now than in the olden days. If not, few nobles would succeed. Not that it seems to matter, too few these days have the drive or courage to come.”
He sighed, and set down his cup. “The reputation alone is sufficient to filter out most commoners. For most supplicants, the biggest challenge is overcoming the fear, inertia, and self-doubt that afflict them before they even reach the gate. Commoner or noble, all who reach me are worthy of my attention.
“I studied your history this morning while you were in the park, and was displeased to find a scholar’s daughter in such straits. You fit in among your uneducated villagers as well as a kestrel among pigeons. I am afraid your father has done you a great disservice.”
Stung, I protested, “Father wasn’t trying to spoil me by teaching me to read. He thought I was going to be a witch.”
The Warlock waved that aside. “It is to your credit that you stand up for your father, but that is not the disservice I meant. When you were ten he should have taken you with him to the annual meetings of the Scholar’s Guild in Gastòn. There you would have been introduced to, and evaluated by, the elders in the community, and you would have met the boys and young men who would now be your natural suitors.”
Ten? My throat tightened. Father had not been able to take care of me as he had wanted in his last years, when he had been too ill. But that was after I turned twelve. He had still been able to travel when I was ten.
The Warlock said, “If the Scholar’s Guild Council had known about you, they would have looked after your marriage prospects after your father died, but your father had a falling out with the Guild Council about that time, and never repaired the breach. Indeed, it seems that by the time you were twelve he had lost any interest in doing so. Did he not try to dissuade you from exercising your curiosity, whereas before he had tolerated it, if not actually encouraged it? And began to talk to you about marriage to one of the local farmers or tradesmen?”
“Yes, sir. Do you mean there are men who would be interested in me in spite of my education?”
“Not in spite of, quite the opposite. Many will be interested in you because you are clever and literate. You see, a man who wants to have intelligent sons must marry the most intelligent woman who will have him.” He waved a hand towards the shelves of books. “The lore is quite clear about that. The councils of the magic guilds, as well as the scholars’ and several other of the more intellectually challenging trades, are well aware of that, and search for promising young women to match up with their more ambitious young men. Indeed, I do not hesitate to speak for the other members of the Fire Guild Council in expressing our gratitude that you came here. It will be to our benefit if you marry one of our wizards.
“So you need not worry about that. Despite your advanced age of nineteen,” he smiled, t
aking the sting out of his words, “I foresee no difficulty in finding you a husband who shares your curiosity and love of books.” His smile widened. “If further inducement is required, marriage to either a scholar or a wizard will give you rights to most sections of your husband’s guild library, history among them.”
My fascination with the Fire Warlock bloomed into a full-blown case of hero-worship. If he had asked me to die for him, I’d have done it without hesitation. I would even have cut off all my hair if it would have helped him.
The Warlock waited while I scrubbed away tears and blew my nose. “That is not all you want. What else troubles you?”
Why did he think that? He had already given me more than I dared hope for. But if… Cravings I had not dared put into words blazed like a stirred fire. I closed my eyes for a moment. Mustn’t be greedy, and one mattered to others beside me. “Your Wisdom, about Claire…”
A slight frown formed on his face. I got out in a rush, “Isn’t there anything you can do for her? I’m sure she doesn’t know what she’s doing to herself by using a glamour spell. Couldn’t you make her stop?”
This time the sigh was much longer and drawn out. He gazed out the window, his fingers drumming on the arms of the chair. I leaned back and took a deep breath. He didn’t look angry. I made my hands let go of their death grip on the chair arms.
When he turned his attention back to me he asked, “How much do you know about basic magical theory? You have read the classic text, of course, Protin’s The Four Magics, but—”
“No, sir, I haven’t,” I interrupted. He looked startled.
“Father had that, but he kept it locked up in the glassed bookcase with the other books on magic. Mother Janet sold those after he died, and I couldn’t argue, since he had said it wasn’t appropriate for me to read any of them.”
The eyebrows shot upwards again. “Why ever not?”
I had asked Father that, more than once, and had never gotten a satisfactory answer. I swallowed my frustration. “I don’t know, sir.”
“What other books on magic did he keep with it?”
“There was a four-volume set, Practical Healing Arts, a fat one titled Creative Cookery, and quite a few smaller ones on potions and spells and the like.”
“I see. He was prudent in keeping that lot locked up. Someone with latent talent and no understanding could cause quite a bit of damage with those. But I am surprised a scholar’s collection should run so heavily towards the practical arts instead of the theory.” He frowned briefly, then raised a wand—where had that come from? He hadn’t had one over by the bookshelves. He made a small flicking motion in the direction of the topmost tier of shelves. A book flew off one of the shelves and dived towards us.
“There are gaps in your education. We must correct that.”
The flying book made a graceful arc, slowed, and came to a stop, then settled into my lap. I touched the blue binding and it sprang open to the first page on its own. The strongest of the unexpressed cravings satisfied, a knot of tension in my neck and shoulders I had not known existed began to relax. The sunlight pouring in through the windows warmed me, body and soul.
“Here is your first reading assignment. I see little reason to lock up any of the theory texts. The worst reading that one could do is put you to sleep.” The corner of his eyes creased into not quite a smile. “And you do need to know at least the basic theory to avoid causing trouble here.”
I gulped. “Yes, sir. I don’t mean to cause trouble, Your Wisdom. Thank you very much, sir.”
The ghost of a smile deepened. “No, of course not, but you do anyway, just by existing.”
I swallowed again. “I’m sorry, sir.”
The Warlock’s eyes danced. “Sorry? For existing?”
My face got hot. “No, sir. For causing trouble.”
“You need not apologise for that either, but we have gone off on a tangent. You asked what I could do for your stepsister. I cannot do much without Claire desiring a change, and she has not demonstrated that desire. The principle is the fourth magic, the magic of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Without that, a powerful wizard can force a personality change on someone, but it amounts to soul murder. What is left afterwards is a body inhabited by something that is no longer quite human. I have never needed to do that. I hope I never do.” The eloquent eyes were quite sombre.
I shuddered. “No, sir.”
He smiled again. “Now, we have covered your education, your marriage prospects, your stepsister… Is that everything? No, I see by your expression it is not. What else? Come on, out with it.”
How far could I push my luck? “Your Wisdom, all the old stories are about the adventures boys got to go on, but the girls had to wait for their knight to come rescue them. Why can’t a girl have an adventure and see some of the world, too?” I bit my tongue. Did I just say that to the Fire Warlock?
He laughed, but he clearly did not mean it to wound, and I took no offense.
He said, “I cannot blame you for wanting adventure; I did at your age, and it is hard to deny that boys have more fun. But you do realise,” he said, sobering, “that the boys in the adventures were more likely to be hurt, perhaps even die, than the girls?”
I said, “Except for the girls that were dragon bait.”
“True, true. And further, the questers of both sexes that returned to tell their tales were the successful ones. You do not often hear about the young men that died on the attempt, or the girls who were not rescued by their heroes.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighed. “In the span of a year in the Fortress there may be more than one opportunity for an adventure, and given your history I would have difficulty in keeping you out of it. We will let events take their course and see what comes your way. At the very least, you may visit several of the cities and meet a number of colourful characters. Whether that will satisfy you or only serve to whet your appetite remains to be seen. For the moment though, can you cook?”
Mrs Cole
Could I cook? At last, a question I could answer with confidence. “Yes, sir.”
“Can you follow a recipe? Bake bread? Pies? Cakes?”
“Yes, sir. All of those.”
“Excellent.” The Warlock stood. “I seldom take on young women—they tend to be too disruptive to this predominantly male enclave—but we do need another cook.”
A servant appeared, on cue. The Warlock said, “Casper, take Miss Guillierre to Mrs Cole, and tell her that she will be helping in the kitchen and will need a room.”
I executed the most graceful curtsey I’d ever achieved, one even Claire would have pronounced acceptable. The Warlock’s smile warmed me as I floated out of the alcove, hugging The Four Magics to my chest. Behind me, the Warlock murmured, as if to himself, “Cinnamon rolls with raisins and icing. Oh, that would be so nice.”
I followed the servant to the moving staircase, where Claire was talking to Warlock Arturos. He listened with furrowed brow, stroking his moustache with one finger. Was she using the glamour spell on him? But hadn’t he told her to clean up at the guild hall, when she had looked spotless to me?
Tears streaked Claire’s cheeks. Claire, crying? She never cried in public. She often employed tear-filled eyes to get her way, but they did not spill over; red eyes and a blotchy face horrified her. I suspected that she did cry sometimes, but alone, where no one else would see the ugly after-effects.
Long-term use of a glamour spell wasn’t healthy for anyone. Wasn’t there anything I could do for her? I sighed. Who did I think I was, when even the Fire Warlock couldn’t help?
I said, “Claire, are you all right?”
She nodded. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“Oh, yes. More than I ever hoped for.”
She sighed. “I suppose I must tell Mother that you won’t be back.”
I winced
. That was going to be a distressing scene. Claire would calm Mother Janet more easily than I could have, but it didn’t seem fair that she would have to.
“And it will be a long walk home by myself. I’m not looking forward to it. My feet hurt already.” She tried to laugh, but her lower lip trembled.
Arturos said, “You don’t have to walk the whole way. I can take you as far as the Earth Guild house in Old Campton.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, “I would appreciate that, sir.”
She did look grateful, an emotion I didn’t remember seeing often on Claire’s face. I added my thanks.
“Claire, tell Mother Janet I’m sorry. When I come back…”
She looked surprised. “You won’t come back. Not to stay, anyway. Why would you? I wouldn’t.”
She was right. Given the Warlock’s assurances, I would probably not be going back there to live, but Mother Janet had tried her best, and I didn’t want to offend her.
I swallowed hard. “There’s a letter on the desk in the study listing Father’s law books.” I had to pause and swallow again. “Send it to the clerk in Rubierre. He’ll know where to go to get a good price for them.”
Claire’s eyes were enormous. “Oh, Lucinda. I’m sure Mother will be pleased. I know how much the books mean to you.”
Arturos nodded at me, and after offering Claire his arm, drew a circle of flame in the air around the two of them with his wand. As soon as the circle was complete, the fire roared up in a column chest high.
I bumped into Casper as I reeled backwards, away from the flames. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologise. I’ve been here ten years and it still makes me nervous when they do that.”
Claire and Arturos had vanished. I was shocked that I felt bereft.
The flames had left a minute ring of ash on the stone floor. I eyed it as I followed Casper onto the stairs.
I forgot about Claire as soon as Casper introduced me to the cook. Mrs Cole was a plump, grey-haired witch with square spectacles and a laugh like a twittering sparrow. She reminded me of my grandmother, and I warmed to her on the spot. She didn’t seem to mind my questions, and chattered away down three flights of stairs and along several seemingly endless corridors.
The Locksmith Page 6
