“…and so the Air Enchanter showed he could be as stubborn as a warlock. After getting nowhere for five years, the Fire Warlock gave up.”
“Wait,” I said, “the Enchanter wasn’t being stubborn. He didn’t have any choice. The Air Office wouldn’t let him.”
“If he had been amenable, the Fire Warlock could have overruled the Air Office.”
“Only on matters of the country’s security, and that obviously wasn’t.”
Master Sven’s voice sharpened. “The Fire Office is the strongest of the four. Cooperation makes for more potent magic, but the Fire Warlock can force the others—”
“Nonsense. If he could, he’d have fixed the broken legal system centuries ago.”
Sven glared at me. “Where are you getting this rubbish?”
“It’s all in Gibson’s History of the Office of the Fire Warlock.”
His eyes bulged. “You’ve read that tome? Good Heavens.”
“It took me a year, the first time through, but yes, I—”
“You read it more than once? Good God. I’m sorry to say it wasn’t worth the effort. It’s obsolete, and considered misleading. No one bothers with it anymore.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sagged; the warm glow in my chest I had carried around since mid-morning faded. “It was the most complete history my father had.”
“Let’s find you something more up to date.”
On my way through the library with the text Master Sven had suggested, one of the older scholars waylaid me. “Miss Guillierre, I have a proposition for our mutual benefit.”
I followed him into one of the windowed alcoves. What was his name? I had paid this one little attention. He always looked tired, and never laughed, as far as I could tell. He described what sounded to me like a business arrangement, with himself as senior partner. I listened in growing confusion. Scholar Elias, that was his name.
I finally interrupted him. “I’m sorry, sir, but what exactly are you asking me to do?”
He looked surprised. “Why, be my wife. Wasn’t that obvious?”
I cringed. “Oh, thank you, sir. I beg your pardon, sir, but, uh, I don’t think I can make a decision now, since I just started my year here. Will you excuse me, please?”
I bolted, looking for Mrs Cole.
Her reaction was a hearty laugh, followed by a deep sigh. “Oh, dear, that man has not an ounce of romance in his soul. My guess is he wants a cook and housekeeper and a warm bed, and any woman who could give them to him would do. But I’d not have him, and I don’t think you should either, honey.”
“Mrs Cole, I’ve never had a serious beau. The Warlock didn’t think I’d have any trouble finding somebody suitable, but how do I know who’s suitable? I’d rather be an old maid than settle for a business deal like that, but how can I be sure that I’ll ever get a better offer?”
She looked me up and down over the rims of her spectacles, and said, “I agree with Himself on that score. Your biggest problem is going to be deciding which offer to take. I’ve seen the way they flock around you at dinner. As pretty and good-natured as you are, and as good a cook, it’s just a matter of time until they all wake up and start proposing right and left. When word gets about that somebody has already made an offer, the rest of them will line up to get their bids in. Take my word for it.”
“If they do, what do I say so they don’t get angry while I wait for a better offer?”
“You had the right idea with Scholar Elias. For each one whether you like him a lot, a little, or not at all, thank him for his interest and tell him you can’t make a decision now. Tell him you’ll be happy to entertain the question next spring, when your year is almost up. If he’s serious, he’ll be back, and you’ll have had time to sort out which ones you like and which ones you don’t. Don’t let any of them pressure you or sweet-talk you into making a decision too fast. You’ve got lots of time, honey, to make up your mind.”
As word spread that Scholar Elias had proposed, other scholars did make offers. The atmosphere at dinner became rather tense, as the various suitors eyed each other and jockeyed for position, and generally acted like peacocks vying for the attention of a peahen.
I said to the Warlock one morning, “I guess you weren’t joking about young women being disruptive. I’m sorry, sir, for the trouble I’m causing.”
He smiled. “I expected it. They will calm down soon, once the novelty wears off.”
The proposals themselves ranged from a flowery speech full of allusions to romance to a written note from Scholar Andreas. I was touched by the note, and sought him out to thank him. I made a point of sitting next to him at dinner at regular intervals, but getting him to talk about anything besides his classification system took effort, and I couldn’t keep that up for a lifetime.
Another scholar wrote me a poem running to four pages, but the woman he extolled bore only a passing resemblance to me, and I had little interest in becoming the paragon of gentleness he seemed to want.
Several of the proposals I would have jumped at, if they had come my way in Lesser Campton, but the calibre of the men I had met since coming to the Fortress had raised my expectations. Master Sven seemed to find my suitors irritating, but made no move of his own to propose. I hinted that an offer would be welcome, and he began to avoid me outside the classroom, watching where I sat in the dining room, and seating himself some distance away.
Maybe I shouldn’t have argued with him over obscure historical details, but what could I have done instead? He would have discovered, some day, that I couldn’t sit still and listen to anyone say something I believed was wrong.
Mrs Cole watched me brood over him, and clucked at his caution. “I suppose it’s to be expected, though. Girls have been chasing him since his university days, and there are a couple of young witches down in Blazes who have their hearts set on him. It may be just as well he’s not interested in you, honey—a jealous fire witch can make a mundane girl’s life a misery.”
I stopped kneading the ball of dough and stared at her. “They couldn’t do anything to me here in the Fortress, could they?”
“Well, no, but you’re not going to spend your whole life shut up in here, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” I went back to kneading with a hollow feeling in my chest. I missed having a girlfriend my own age. I hadn’t considered that the fire witches in Blazes might not be friendly. The only people from the town I’d met were Warlock Arturos and two witches at the guild hall, and they’d all been cordial.
Arturos seemed to find my suitors amusing. I often caught him eyeing me. He would wink and not look in the least abashed.
“Mrs Cole, is Warlock Arturos married?”
She shot me a sharp glance. “He’s not a scholar, honey—doesn’t seem like your type.”
“But he is a fire wizard.”
“He is that. A perfect example of one, warts and all. Meaning—”
“Meaning he’s loud, nosy, stubborn, with a foul temper…”
She laughed. “Of course, I don’t need to tell you that. Anyway, he’s a widower. His wife was the town’s healer, but she broke her neck in a fall, poor thing, a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, dear, and without another healer nearby…”
“Wouldn’t have done any good. She was dead before anybody reached her.”
When I met Arturos in the corridor later that day he seemed glad to see me, and stopped to chat.
“Please, sir,” I said, “I want to know more about the rules for the challenges and which people are accepted as supplicants.”
His eyebrows rose. “Why? You were accepted; what’s bothering you?”
“It’s Claire, sir. She needed help, too. It doesn’t seem fair that I should get everything I wanted, while she didn’t get anything at all, even though we went through the challenges together.”
He looked even
more surprised. “Did she help you with the challenges? I was under the impression that she was no help to you in the last challenge, and put an obstacle in your way in the first one.”
My cheeks got hot. “No, sir, that wasn’t what I meant. I would have gotten through them just fine without her.” A cold chill ran down my spine, and I heard my father’s stern voice: Never, ever lie to a warlock.
I looked down at my feet while my entire face and ears burned. “That’s not right. She made the challenge with the guards harder, but she did help with the maze. I’m not sure how I would have handled the lion if I hadn’t gotten angry at him for threatening her.”
The cold dread evaporated. I looked up. “Wait—doesn’t the magic keep me from talking about the challenges?”
He grinned. “You can talk to me. I’m the Keeper of the Challenge Path, remember, and I asked you a question about them. But you said that wasn’t what you meant. Go on.”
“Yes, sir. All the old stories say you can bring along whatever—tools, food, or anything—you think will help you get through the challenges. I didn’t bring anything along; all I have is my head. I was planning to come by myself even before Claire heard about the new gate. But the only thing Claire knows how to do is manipulate people. She knew she wouldn’t get through the challenges by herself, so she insisted on coming with me. I was the tool she needed to be able to get through. So I think that ought to count for something. Shouldn’t it?”
“Ah,” he said, stroking his beard for a bit. “Hmm. Well,” he said, pausing again. “I had never considered that. Maybe, just maybe, you have a point, but even so, she doesn’t belong here. A glamour spell isn’t—”
My stomach lurched. “A glamour spell? But… Oh. The Warlock did say that. I’d forgotten.” The conversation with the Warlock about Claire’s glamour spell came back clearly. How could I have forgotten something so important?
Arturos tugged at his beard. “Odd. Something going on I don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter—glamour spells aren’t in the Fire Guild’s domain. If it’s any comfort to you, after I delivered her back to Old Campton, I had a chat with the local earth witch, who promised to keep an eye on her. Maybe she can help where we can’t.”
I warmed towards the big wizard. “Thank you, sir.”
He shrugged, still smiling. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
I took a deep breath. Time to stop stalling. “Arturos, have you ever considered remarrying?”
The pleasure drained out of his face. “Sure, Lucinda. I’ve thought about it. A lot. But it’s no good. It wouldn’t be fair… Well, it just wouldn’t be right.”
He turned on heel and strode off down the corridor in the direction he had come from. I watched him go with watering eyes and a lump in my throat.
Despite efforts to avoid it, René and I became familiar with the old system of spell classification. We spent days reading through the six major categories and dozens of subcategories of spells, in page after page of detailed descriptions. And then, at the end, almost as a footnote, was the category of locks. All the text said was “specialised spells for hiding things, both physical and intangible.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
René shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m glad that’s all we need to know about them.”
Master Sven, when questioned, said. “Don’t bother with that. The study of locks is very esoteric. They don’t come up in normal practice.”
“Why not? Can’t you at least tell us a little more about them?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You have every right to ask if you’re curious, but you’re the first student I’ve ever had ask about them. So I’m curious about why you’re interested.”
“I’m not sure. It just seems they deserve more attention than that. Wasn’t one of the members of the Great Coven known as the Locksmith? Aren’t the locks he devised when the Offices were created considered one of the reasons they’ve held up so far?”
“That’s true, although even most guild members have never heard of him. I studied the history of the Great Coven at university and I don’t know much more than that, or about locks. All I know is that they can hide very abstract things—ideas, emotions, other spells—and few witches and wizards can use even the simplest of locks.”
“Then how do you hide things?”
“With illusions, mostly. I’ve never tried to use a lock spell, and I don’t know where I’d find much about them. If you want to know more, we can ask His Wisdom for help.”
“No, no, I don’t want to bother him.”
“Why not? He’s happy to answer questions about magic.”
Why did asking the Warlock seem like a bad idea? I hesitated, then shrugged. “It isn’t that important.”
I didn’t think about locks again for the rest of the day, but that night, I once again dreamed of the glass cage, and woke gasping for breath. For the first time I saw the cage had a locked door, and the lock was on the inside.
The Earth Mother
“We’ve got to make an extra effort to make sure everything goes smoothly today, honey,” Mrs Cole said, “because the Earth Mother will be here for dinner.”
The Earth Mother? Was apple crumble good enough? I straightened up and slammed the cupboard door on my finger. I stuck the injured digit in my mouth and sucked on it. Not off to a good start.
When dinner was ready, I hurried down the corridor to the anteroom, anxious not to miss her appearance. The rumours had spread that she was coming, and the scholars were abuzz. Everyone wanted to sit at the head of the table and there would be little chance that I would be one of the lucky ones.
I tugged at Master Thomas’ sleeve. “Why is she here?”
The librarian shook his head. “She has lots of business with His Wisdom but we never hear the details. Maybe it’s a social call. She’s one of the few people he can really let his hair down with.”
“Is she as old as he is?”
“Not quite. She’s only a hundred. The Frost Maiden’s older.”
I snorted. “Right. And Storm King will go cold before she comes here for dinner.”
At one o’clock the door opened and the most beautiful older woman I have ever seen walked in on the Fire Warlock’s arm. Even today, after having seen her many times, I cannot say with any accuracy what she looked like. The only detail I remember is the heavy coil of grey hair, but she looked like someone I loved. Mother? I smiled at the memory, but she had died young. Mother Janet? I hadn’t realised I missed her. Grandmother? The butcher’s wife, who was forever bandaging skinned knees? Or Mrs Wilson, who had held me tightly and let me sob on her shoulder when my own mother died?
“—and Miss Guillierre at the head of the table.”
I snapped to attention, but the Warlock had finished talking. The two guild heads strolled into the dining room, the scholars—a few glaring at me—falling into line behind them. From the other side of the room, Warlock Arturos winked at me.
I looked at Master Thomas. His eyebrows rose. I spread my hands and shrugged.
Arturos came over to offer me his arm. “That put a few noses out of joint,” he said with a grin.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I sat across from the Earth Mother, and the Warlock introduced me. “Lucinda and her stepsister Claire came together to ask for my help. I approved of Lucinda’s quest, and she is serving her year in my kitchen. She made the apple crumble for today’s dessert, and I expect it will be as excellent as everything else she has produced.”
How did he know I made apple crumble? He hadn’t been in the kitchen.
He continued, “But she has pointed out that I was wrong in sending her stepsister away.”
�
��I never said that, Your Wisdom.” I bit my tongue. Contradicting the Warlock was not a good idea.
“You were more tactful, but the import was the same. I hope I never become so arrogant that I cannot admit I have made a mistake. I know that I do; I make them all the time.” Turning back to the Earth Mother, he said, “Her stepsister attempts to enthral everyone she meets, including me, with a glamour spell. I would like you to listen to Lucinda’s story, and see what you make of her stepsister’s problem.”
I told the Earth Mother about our quest. She asked questions, and before long I was pouring out my life story and everything I knew about Claire’s.
Claire was younger than I, and we had been good friends before Father remarried. She used to listen, wide-eyed, when I told the younger girls the magical stories of far-off lands and strange people that I read in Father’s books. We got along well enough in the same house, once we had each staked out our territory and left the other’s toys alone. Aside from Claire my taste in friends ran more towards the boys who let me trail along with them to play Hide-and-Seek or Soldiers-and-Wizards in the woods, than towards the other girls Claire played with who were more interested in dolls or playing house.
I hated rainy days but she loved them, splashing through puddles in her boots and shaking off the rain like a duck. She didn’t want to cook but didn’t mind, when younger, doing the dishes or the laundry. Her attempts at baking were pitiful failures, and she couldn’t stand getting her hands dirty in the garden, but she would carry water from the spring and water the plants.
“An affinity for the Water Guild,” the Earth Mother said.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s what it seemed to me.”
“Odd. Water witches don’t usually have much truck with glamour spells. Go on.”
As she grew older, Claire became so beautiful that all the boys flocked around her, and even my friends chased after her and ignored me. Everyone who met her, men and women alike, young and old, wanted to do nothing more than please her. Anyone Claire wanted something from would be dazzled into believing she was the best friend he could ever have, then she would turn her attention to someone else, leaving the first victim burning with jealousy. I watched this pattern play out many times in her relationships with other people. She had gotten lazy and arrogant, and didn’t understand that everyone around her resented being used. The boys who had courted her got too angry to come back, and she had driven away all her girlfriends.
The Locksmith Page 9
