“Except me. I don’t know why she didn’t mistreat me, too.”
“But, my dear, she did.” The Warlock’s tone was quite gentle. “Many times.”
“But, Your Wisdom, she…” My protest died, half-formed. Fragments of memory came back to me. Claire talking me into bringing her with me on the challenge path. Telling me what a good sport I was when she shirked all her chores. There had been other times, too, I was sure of that.
I had talked all the way through dinner and dessert. Everyone else had finished and gone. The only people left in the dining room were the earth witch and two warlocks, all three watching me with puzzled expressions.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I guess I knew that. I don’t know why I said she hadn’t.”
“You’ve been acting,” Arturos said, “like she used a forget spell—a big one, too—on you.”
“Indeed,” the Warlock said. “That could explain why such a perceptive individual would fail to notice the signs of a glamour spell.”
“A forget spell? She’s not a witch. How could she use even one powerful spell, much less two?”
“By herself she could not, but an experienced witch or wizard can bind spells to an object—a scarf, say, or a brooch—for a mundane to use.”
“Even then,” the Earth Mother said, “a glamour spell has to be tailored to the individual, and she has to be taught how to use it.” She frowned, and stared off into space, stirring her coffee mechanically. I watched the great emerald on her finger gleam and flash, and started when she addressed the two warlocks. “Both of you could see through the glamour spell. Did she need it?”
Arturos said, “Nope. She’s gorgeous without it, and seemed to have a reasonably pleasant personality underneath.”
The Warlock made a wry face. “I cannot comment on her personality, but she is indeed comely.”
She said, “This story puzzles me a great deal. It’s clear that she didn’t belong here. I can see why you sent her home, Jean, and small blame to you.
“Please forgive me if I say things you already know, dear,” she addressed to me, “but as you haven’t been educated by one of the guilds I can’t guess what you know and what you don’t. Your supposition that Claire deserved a hearing because she used your help to get here is intriguing. I don’t remember this situation ever arising before.”
Arturos said, “There have been other cases where two supplicants came together. We don’t let the stories get out. We’d rather not encourage it.”
“None of the pairs I know about,” she said, “included this type of magical coercion. In your case, it seems quite appropriate that you came to the Fire Guild, but a glamour spell spans my domain and that of the Air Guild. If it wouldn’t let her go to the Water Guild, where she belongs, it should have driven her to one of us. Why did she come to the least suitable of the four?
“The other question, the one that disturbs me more, is who taught her to use those spells? Someone did it deliberately. Who, in God’s name”—she set her coffee cup down with a solid thump—”would teach an already pretty girl such a thing? Who? And why?”
She glared at the Warlock for a moment. He gazed back at her with furrowed brows.
She sighed. “That aspect of this story worries me. I don’t like glamour spells in the first place. I wish I could wave my wand and make them all go away. If it was a member of the Earth Guild who taught her, they will regret it.”
I asked, “Is there anything you can do for her?”
“Perhaps. This seems like a textbook example of Narcissism; a glamour spell gone bad, where the spell caster has become trapped and taken in by her own spell. Cures are not easy or quick, and not possible if she doesn’t want the help. Nevertheless, I will see what can be done.”
“Thank you, Your Wisdom,” I said.
“Yes, thank you, Celeste,” the Warlock added.
“You’re quite welcome, Jean.”
She glanced at me. “Yes, I know it’s a ridiculous name for an Earth Mother. But my parents thought I would be an air witch, and I’m stuck with it.”
We rose, and the two warlocks escorted her away down the corridor. Jean? Celeste? I gazed after them until they rounded the corner and disappeared from my view.
I had never heard the Warlock’s baptismal name before. I had known only his war name, Quicksilver. Sometimes at night, I wondered about his life before he became the Warlock, but during the day I was so busy I never remembered to ask.
I encountered Mrs Cole on my way upstairs after supper, and I asked her as we rode up the moving staircases together. When I got to my room, I walked over to the bookshelf and stood beside it for a long time, looking at but not seeing the two histories that I had lugged all the way from my father’s house. With no conscious urging, my finger traced the author’s name stamped in gold leaf on the red leather: Jean Rehsavvy, Flame Mage, Lore Master, at twenty-seven among the youngest ever to assume the Office of The Fire Warlock, and now at one hundred forty-three, the longest serving, by more than half a century.
On Being a Witch
René said, “You have to be a fire witch. It doesn’t make any sense that you aren’t.”
I’d had enough. I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him down the corridor towards the dining room, where I cornered our tutor. “Master Sven, can you tell when you meet somebody if he or she has magic talents?”
“Yes, of course, I—”
“How?”
“With my mind’s eye. The combination of talents another witch or wizard displays is as distinctive as a face, and harder to change or camouflage. It takes practice to form the mental image, but it’s a useful skill.”
“Do I look like a witch?”
“No, not to me, but I—”
“See, René? You don’t believe me, but he ought to know. I’m not a witch.”
“Hold on,” Master Sven said. “I can spot a witch who’s level two or higher. Lots of level ones don’t put out enough power for me to distinguish them from mundanes.”
René said, “So Lucinda could be a level one and you wouldn’t know?”
“Yes, but I assumed that if she was, His Wisdom would have sent her to work in the school in Blazes.”
“You didn’t ask him, did you?”
The dining room doors opened. Continuing this argument over dinner wouldn’t improve my appetite. I snapped at René, “Go ask him yourself, since you won’t listen to me.”
He grabbed my arm, and Master Sven’s, and towed us along at a run to grab the coveted seats at the head of the table. I protested that we were being rude, but to no avail, and soon the Warlock was looking at me with arched eyebrows and asking, “So, my fine young friends, what is on your minds today?”
René said, “Is Lucinda a witch?”
The Warlock didn’t answer for a moment, looking first at René, then at me, and back at René.
I said, “Go ahead, Your Wisdom. Tell him I’m not one. He doesn’t believe me.”
“He does not believe you, my dear, because it is not true. You are a witch.”
I dropped my fork on my plate with a loud clatter. Master Sven’s eyes widened. René pounded on the table with his fist, and crowed, “I knew it. I knew it. I knew you were a witch.” Scholars turned to look at us, and my cheeks burned.
I said, “But, Your Wisdom…”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Do you disagree with my assessment?”
I clutched at the tablecloth. “Yes, sir. I can’t be a witch. If I were one, shouldn’t I have known about it?”
“Not necessarily. The one talent that we are quite sure you have, baking, is often not considered a magic talent, because it is usually women’s work, and therefore not taken seriously.
“Further, some talents are so weak or so camouflaged that their owner never gains conscious control over them. That seems to be t
he case with your other talent, which, as far as I can determine, is a minor variety of prescience. However, since you cannot control it, the two talents together place you only in the lowest tier, level one, along with thousands of other young women who can bake and do a few other minor things without ever coming to the notice of the guild.”
“Two? That’s it?” René said, looked disgusted.
“As talent goes, yes. The third and, in my opinion, most important factor that makes Lucinda a fire witch is not a magic talent. It is her burning curiosity. Several of our outstanding theoreticians have had little practical talent.”
Master Sven said, “She does have the potential to be a fine scholar, Your Wisdom. The Scholar’s Guild doesn’t normally accept women, but they have made exceptions for witches. I hadn’t realised she was one. If the Fire Guild would accept her, she might find a place in the Scholar’s Guild.”
The Warlock frowned. “You must not get your hopes up. The Guild Council and I do not agree on such matters, particularly when they involve women.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, would it?”
Talk about my prospects with the guild flowed around me, but I sat silent, trembling. The Warlock knew more about witches than I did, but even he could be mistaken. Didn’t he once say so himself?
He watched me with a slight pucker of his eyebrows. I bent my head and stared at my plate, looking up again only when the conversation moved away from me.
“You made it sound,” René said, “like lots of people don’t know they’re witches and wizards.”
“Why should they?” the Warlock said. “The majority of talents are minor, unnoticed by their owners or disparaged by the witches and wizards they go to for testing, who are usually only minor talents themselves.”
“But then they miss out on going to the school.”
“Yes, but that is just as well. If they all came, the school would be overwhelmed. Left alone, the level one talents will not do much damage. We must focus our attention on the ones who can. It is the responsibility of the licensed testers to entice, persuade, or coerce them into coming to us.”
“I wanted to come here. Why would you have to coerce anybody?”
“What is the primary objective of the Fire Guild?”
“Training witches and wizards to use their magic?”
“Certainly not. Someone with enough raw talent can learn the rudiments without ever coming to the school. The Guild’s primary objective is ensuring the safety and security of the kingdom, and that includes policing the behaviour of guild members. Many witches and wizards have tried to avoid that scrutiny, either out of a desire to use magic for unlawful ends, or out of fear of the demands on the guild during a war.”
“What demands on the guild?” René asked. “Aren’t you the only one who has to fight?”
The Warlock fixed René with a stern glare. “Remember this, my young friend. All members of the Fire Guild are tools at the Office’s disposal, and it does not hesitate to use them. It has no conscience, and individual lives mean nothing to it. It will do whatever is necessary to protect Frankland, even if that means burning through every member of the guild.
“War is coming soon. When it does, your life as well as mine may be at risk.”
Master Sven and René finished their dinners and rose to go. I stood too, but the Warlock signalled to me to sit down again. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen him. I sat, and went back to staring at my uneaten dinner.
He said, “I am sorry I sprung the news you are a witch on you in such a fashion. Your talent for prescience is intriguing. I had hoped to understand it better before bringing it to your attention, but René took the initiative away from me. He had a serious motive for asking that question, and, for reasons related to his problems and not yours, I needed to give him a serious answer.
“But, my dear, most people, on finding out that they are a witch or wizard, are excited, even eager. Why does it upset you?”
“You just told us that the Office could burn through the entire guild. Shouldn’t I be frightened?”
He sighed. “I exaggerated somewhat. In dire circumstances it could come to that, but it has not yet done so, and is not likely to in the near future. It is only the level fives—the warlocks—whose lives are always at risk. Lower level wizards and witches have lost their lives in the service of the Office, but it is uncommon, even for level three and four talents, and less likely the further down the ranks we go. For the lower levels, the benefits of being a guild member far outweigh the risks, and you have a stronger affinity for the Fire Guild than is common even in the middle ranks—”
“Don’t say that, sir.”
“Why does the prospect disturb you?”
“I don’t know, Your Wisdom, but this talk of war scares me. The guards are saying the emperor is jealous of you, but that’s always been the case. He wouldn’t go to war just because of that, would he?”
“That is but one factor. Of more import to the ordinary citizens is that we block easy trade with the New World. Their ships must travel far to the north through treacherous seas to avoid us.”
“Can’t we let their ships through the channel?”
“And allow them to cut us in two? Never. You are evading my question. Given that past wars have burned whole cities off the map, a level one witch in the Fire Guild is no more at risk than any other citizen of Frankland. You know that. You were disturbed before the conversation went in that direction. Why?”
“I don’t know, sir.” My hands shook. I sat on them. “If I were to be in one of the guilds, the Fire Wizard’s Guild is the one I would have chosen. I don’t know why I’m terrified.” What an awful word to choose. He would think I was a mouse.
He studied me in silence, his frown deepening the longer he watched me. I couldn’t meet his eyes. He got up, saying, “I have other things I must attend to, but your behaviour concerns me. You are not easily frightened. If you have any further insights on this subject, I would like to hear them.”
I fled back to the kitchen, feeling like a fool.
“You’ve been saying the same nonsense for a week now. I am not going to apply for membership in the Fire Guild, and that’s final.” I turned my back on Master Sven and walked away.
He followed me into the dining room and sat beside me. “You are being ridiculous. I might have to take back what I’ve said about you having a good mind. Refusing to ask for membership seems incredibly senseless.”
“If you’re trying to sweet-talk me into going, you’re going to have to try harder.”
“What? Oh.” He flushed. “Sorry.”
“What’s it matter, anyway?” René said. “I don’t care what the Guild Council says. I know she’s a witch.”
“She’s got a better grasp already on the basics of theory than most graduates of the guild school. With more training, she could teach there. Joining the guild would guarantee her access to a library, too. She needs to read more widely to be a better conversationalist.”
The boy sniffed. “How’s that going to help? She’s already more interesting to talk to than anybody else in the Fortress, except for Arturos and you and the Fire Warlock.”
I gaped at him. He had been eager all week to talk about spellcraft. Somebody—not me—must have worked some magic on him.
Master Sven harped on the subject of guild membership all through dinner. On leaving the dining room, I went to the library instead of the classroom, and sat in a window seat far away from ancient history. I drew my knees up with my feet on the cushion and tugged at the heavy curtains to hide me from the view of anyone else in the library. It was a warm day in June, but I shivered.
A little while later, at the sound of a purposeful tread on the boards behind me, I pulled open a gap between the curtain and wall, and watched Master Sven walk through the library, scanning each alcove and bay of bookshelves as he passe
d by. He stopped at the librarian’s desk; Master Thomas looked around and shook his head. I let the curtain fall closed, and shut my book. I’d not gotten past the title page, anyway.
The hand that swept back the curtain moments later was not the one bearing the brilliant ruby, but I knew him the instant the fabric twitched. Who else would know I was there? Or moved with no more sound than a drop of mercury sliding along a glass?
“I had expected you to be elated that Master Sven is at last giving you the attention you deserve. Tell me why this displeases you.”
I turned my head and stared out the window, my throat tight. “I’m no more a witch today than I was last week, whatever you say, Your Wisdom. Why should it make a difference?”
“Would you have found Master Sven so appealing if I had not said he was determined to be a mage?”
“He wants to be a mage. I don’t want to be a witch.”
“Ah. An important distinction. Then go to the next council meeting, and put an end to his false hopes.”
I looked at him over my shoulder. He stood with his arms crossed, frowning at me.
I said, “You’re sure they won’t take me?”
“Can you light a candle?”
“You know I can’t.”
“Then they will not accept you.”
“And the Scholar’s Guild won’t take me either, without me officially being a witch?”
“There are, perhaps, other avenues. Is that your desire?”
I rested my forehead against the cool glass with my eyes closed. Talk about false hopes. No one would believe I belonged there. Would I believe it myself? And why would I want to spend the rest of my life chained to a desk?
The Locksmith Page 10
