But who?
Gerdy heard Cat already snoozing, snoozing just like—just like a cat! The thought flashed brightly—a lightbulb formed over Gerdy’s head years before Eddis would actually showcase his invention.
Sanchez! She purred at the thought.
26
The Book of Lost Things
Captain Todder, Epik thought, you gifted magic to Captain Todder?
Well, hello to you, too, son, his father replied. In Epik’s mind, it still sounded like Gabby’s voice.
Todder, really? Epik thought again.
No, I definitely did not gift Albert Todder with any abilities, Epiman thought firmly. But I’ve long known they were in there…
And?
Well, first you tell me what happened. I’m guessing your little operation was a success?
You know it was, Epik responded. I don’t know how you know, but you know.
Epik was still flying on Buster’s back. Behind him, Todder’s eyes were squeezed shut as the old man pretended the ground wasn’t swooshing by. Epik wasn’t really a fan either.
Still, the ground swooshed by.
His father sighed. I’ve been talking with Todder—just like this. I believe he thought I was a part of his subconscious. He still might. But I’d love a better explanation of the past few hours, his was, let’s just say lacking in detail…
Grudgingly, Epik told the story up to the point Todder had explained he’d just been thinking of his granny, that’s all.
Hmm… Curious, Epiman thought. I have a theory. The witches may need to confirm it.
Albert’s granny was adept in the magical arts. And we both know there are ways to bury magic, to hide it from the possessor—until the time it’s needed. You know that I did something similar with your sister’s magic.
I do, Epik thought. Hey, you never explained how she’s supposed to overcome that…
That’s not for you to find out. You can’t just go running to others with the answers. It’s best they find them for themselves as Todder must’ve done—because whatever happened on that train unlocked his power, I’m sure of it.
Answers, Epik thought sardonically, I wish I had a few. How are we supposed to defeat the Grand Sovereign when we barely know what we’re up against?
Have the witches granted you access to the fourth book?
No, why?
Just a feeling, it might hold a key or two. I was never allowed near it.
Really? Why? Wait… How do you even know about the fourth book? They said you never studied here…
Because that book belonged to my father. How he got his hands on it, I’m not sure. But I stole it when I stole away from King’s Way. Without ever looking inside it, I left in my mother’s care. She seemed to think it was best left under the protection of the Coven—I can’t say why. But it very well might be the key to unlocking my father’s power.
Okay, I’ll look into it… I guess.
That’s my boy.
That sentiment sent a shudder down Epik’s spine. He wasn’t really his father’s boy. He was only now getting used to the fact he was Epiman’s son.
Speaking of power, Epik thought, when the time comes to face the Grand Sovereign, can I count on you for help? Or is it all supposed to be up to me?
A true hero has help, his father said. When the times comes, you can Call On Me.
27
City of Bones
Fifty feet above the dim castle dungeons, the city was equally bleak. The snow didn’t drift. It protested its very association with King’s Way from the get-go, having flown in on some breeze beneath the dark mass that shrouded the city.
The streets were all but empty. The coliseum looked like the fossilized remains of a dragon skull, weathered but unbroken. At the port on the river, a handful of men were toiling. A single galleon was docked and being retrofitted with a new hull, cannons, and sails.
The frigid water of the Bludmud River rushed past the docks, but along the banks, the river was frozen.
Down from the harbor at the yards where the fisherman cleaned and gutted their fish, a clowder of cats prowled in anticipation of today’s catch. While they waited, the cats sifted through the sea of white, the snow and the bones, for anything of interest, though some just waited, tails atwitch.
One such cat, a gray tabby, sat regally on a rock, chest full, head high and proud. The cat looked as if it had once been the cat of a noble.
Sanchez wasn’t one to fret over the past. His mind was on the here and the now. His ears listened over the soothing rush of the river. He waited, waited to hear the curse of a sailor in the distance like the chime of the dinner bell.
Any minute now, he thought.
It was a rare thing for Sanchez to think about the past. But sometimes he’d dream of the night the troll burst into his first home—the one he’d known since he was weaned.
In fairness, he’d yowled a warning, valiantly calling for his first owner to join him under the bed. The rumble of the troll’s footsteps had grown steadily louder, and she’d slept right through them, until the beast snatched her up.
But that’s the thing with humans, they come and they go, Sanchez thought. No matter how many gifts he brought them, he was always left to fend for himself. Whether it was for an hour, a day, or a week—it was still leaving in Sanchez’s mind.
And he had grown tired of it.
The dark haired girl, she’d taken good care of him, he admitted that. Gertrude saw that he was fed and watered. With her, he always had a nice place to lounge. She had insisted on baths, but not as regularly as his first owner.
So when Gertrude dropped him on that palace floor, Sanchez was sure she’d come back for him one day. And if not her, then he thought the blonde girl might—Myra would suffice in a pinch. Though she was a tad clingy for his taste.
Neither had come back.
Sanchez had waited up in Gertrude’s room for what seemed like ages. The clock on the wall had struck eight times—he counted.
But what do clocks know of time? Sanchez, done waiting, had found an open window and climbed down to the street below. Following the stench of the water, of fish carcasses and muck, his new home was amongst his kin.
They sheltered together for warmth and protection. But like all cats, they secretly—and not so secretly—had it out for one another.
So when another cat padded up toward his perch on the rock, Sanchez was happy to hiss and bare his teeth to fend that fellow off. The ginger cat slunk away in a typical gingerly fashion, careful to keep its yellow eyes on Sanchez.
Happy with himself, Sanchez again turned his gaze to the water. But suddenly he rose, and he began to trot away from the spot—his spot.
No, that’s not right, he thought. Back, go back! The other cat, seeing this, closed in. It stole his rock.
“Thief,” Sanchez yowled.
Despite his protests, his body kept moving. Sanchez felt a presence.
Kindly stop moving my paws and remove yourself from my body. A voice, cold and low, surprised Gerdy.
The world grew dim and dark again, but she regained focus and was back inside Sanchez’s mind.
I said leave! Sanchez bellowed. His inside voice had a resonating purr to it, refined. He liked it. He had never really cared much for the other, the one that did that meowing thing.
It’s me, Gerdy thought. Can you hear me?
Oh, it’s you? Sanchez said. And you are?
I’m not even going to question, Gerdy thought, how it is you can talk—
That in and of itself is questioning. You’re the one inside my mind, toots—my domain. And, as I’ve already asked you, stop moving my paws.
Right. Sorry. Gerdy stopped propelling Sanchez. I didn’t think you’d—
I’m going to stop you there, while you’re ahead. Let’s not get into your misguided notions of animal kind.
Sanchez stopped to glower at the foreboding castle.
Is that where you want me?
Maybe, Gerdy thought. Actually, no�
��I’ve got a better idea.
Sanchez sighed—it sounded like a purr, but it wasn’t. I’ll tell you this one time, toots, and one time only. A cat’s mind is its own. I’m not some dog, here to do your bidding. I’ve got my own things going on, if ya know what I mean.
I said I was sorry, Gerdy thought.
Well, sometimes sorry isn’t good enough, is it? I expect you’re wanting my help to escape now or something.
You expect right. Hey! Gerdy said. If you knew I wanted to escape, why didn’t you—
Toots, I’m a cat, not some knight in shining armor. Speaking of, the city’s light on those these days, isn’t it?
Can I ask when you started calling me toots?
Always. Sanchez licked his front paw. You’re toots, the blonde girl’s toots, you’re all toots to me. Well, not that little fellow. I call him ‘little fellow.’
Wow, Gerdy thought, it is really easy to get sidetracked. I see what Epik’s talking about.
Epik? You mean you’ve talked to little fellow?
Yes! Gerdy sighed. Sanchez, I need your help.
Help? How can I—a, uh, kitty cat—help you?
You know I never called you that.
It’s not about what you said, the cat thought. Though, to be fair, you did feed me all those times. He wavered. But the baths… He wavered again. Listen, I’m not going to claim the nape of your neck is the best pillow in the world, but it is the best I’ve ever found.
So, what does that mean? You’ll help me?
I’ll consider it. What is it you need me to do?
Gerdy tried to explain about the magic. But it seemed that magic was a concept that cats weren’t able to grasp. She tried something else.
You know the big building? she asked.
The one that looks like a giant boney fish head?
Sure, she mused, that one. I need you to check it—see if you can find any broken piece of wood laying on the ground.
Is that all?
Well, yeah. And then, of course, you must bring it down to me.
There were several beats where nothing was thought, or nothing directed where Gerdy could hear them.
It is a big ask, Sanchez said, but I’ll do it.
Great! Gerdy thought. Then I’ll get this all figured out, and we can go home.
We? Sanchez purred. I like that you thought to include me this time. And I do much prefer castle food… Oh, and fires. I miss those the most.
You do this, you can sit by a fire every night until—
Until what, toots?
Never mind, Gerdy thought.
It was probably best not to discuss the nine lives of a cat, and how even then they add to less than twenty years.
28
Preludes to a Nocturne
Kavya kissed him, full on on the mouth, and she didn’t seem to care the whole room was watching. Neither did he. Epik eased into her embrace. She squeezed him tightly like a child does a puppy, then plucked him up from the floor—also like a child does to a puppy.
It was Brendan who finally coughed enough to voice the opinion of the room. The witches, Eddis, Brendan, Millie, and Kavya were all crammed in the small kitchen and dining area. Eddis had again unfurled his hand-drawn draft of the airship, and both he and Brendan had their fingers to it when Epik Came in Through the Out Door with Todder in tow.
Kavya gently ended the embrace. “I was worried something happened to you… When they came in and said you were on your own on the train, well—”
“We understand, dear,” Begonia reassured her kindly. “No need to explain.”
Kavya smiled at their host, then shrank away and leaned on the counter behind Epik. Her fingertips rested lightly on his neck. Her touch made the whole of his body tingle like the magic hidden somewhere within him.
“Well,” Schmilda said, “are you going to introduce us to this new one here?” She pointed a gnarled finger at Todder.
“Yet another mouth to feed,” she said under her breath—but loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Begonia gave him a kind wink. “Now, Schmilda,” she scolded.
Dora just nodded, excusing herself with excusing. She headed for the stairs without speaking or introducing herself to Todder at all.
“We’re already through almost half of the winter store,” Schmilda remarked. “And by the looks of him, we’ll be out a good bit more before they leave us.”
“Hmm,” Todder grumbled. “Coulda swore I’da lost a few pounds eating the slop they fed us.”
“That, uh, doesn’t seem to be the case, Captain. Here, take my seat.” Brendan offered the older man his chair.
“Thank you.” Todder accepted.
“Right.” Epik surveyed the room. They were a ragtag bunch, to say the least—or in this case, the most. “So,” he said, “this is Captain Albert Todder of the Dune All-En Watch.”
Epik explained the predicament. And how Todder had overcome the spell he was under. He used touches of his father’s explanation, explaining to Todder the magic. But the old captain didn’t pay much attention, choosing to peruse the inside of his eyelids.
Epik, of course, was worried the spell might ensnare Todder again. The witches were unconcerned, or seemed to be. There were only a few times in Epik’s recounting of the events when his words triggered something, and one of the two would perk up. But they both held their tongues until he was finished.
“Todder is it?” Begonia asked. She gave Schmilda a side-eye. “Isn’t that—” She was stopped by Schmilda’s foot on her toe—Epik was the only one with the vantage to see it.
Todder blinked his eyes open.
“Yes, it’s nice to meet you, Albert,” Schmilda added. She gave Begonia a smirk that said far More Than Words ever could.
But Epik didn’t have time to wonder about any of this. Kavya pulled him away as Brendan and Eddis went back to planning, and Begonia kindly made Todder a meal.
Back in their small room alone, Epik said, “I’m a little worried he’s going to revert back. He could kill us all in the night, or worse.”
“Epik, let the Coven worry about Todder,” Kavya soothed him. “You have other things to do, and you did a good thing bringing him back.”
“That’s the thing,” Epik said. “I didn’t do much of anything. It was all him…”
Kavya’s expression asked him to elaborate.
“You heard me, Todder has magic. It’s like whatever happened back there unlocked it.”
“The Coven will help him. Just as they have helped me.” Kavya reached out a hand, and when Epik took it, she pulled him next to her on the bed.
“You were really worried, weren’t you?”
She grinned. Her head rested against the whole of his chest.
It was some time later when Kavya said, “You should probably speak to Gerdy, and see how she’s getting on.”
“Tomorrow,” Epik said.
“Do you really think she knows where Catarina is?”
Epik’s eyelids were heavy. He didn’t open them.
“Maybe, maybe not.” The events of the day were a weight on him as heavy as Todder before the light as a feather spell. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll speak with her.”
And for the first time since the magic inside him was awakened, Epik fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.
Back in the kitchen, Todder’s belly was full. His muscles were resting, and he was in good spirits with good people around him. Or, rather, he thought he should be. But he wasn’t, not really.
Todder had spent so long in his head he was now having trouble finding his way out. He used to sit by the gate in Dune All-En all day, doing nothing but stare into the sun without a care in the world or even a thought in his head.
Now, despite the number of people in the room and the conversation passing him by, he was still in discourse with himself.
See, here I am doing it again, he thought dully.
“Now, uh, Todder, is that a family name?” Eddis asked him.
; “I suppose it is,” Todder told him. “It’s what me dad went by, I know.”
Eddis scratched his chin. “And what did your dad get up to? What was his business?”
Eddis wasn’t interested, Todder could tell. This was bar talk, a short burst of banter before they called it a night. Eddis was just prolonging things.
Strangely though, the two witches’ half-deaf ears were tuned in to the conversation. They shot each other sidelong expressions when they thought Todder wasn’t looking. But the thing about having only the use of his eyes for so long, Todder could basically see the whole of the room—what he might call three hundred and, uh, fifty degrees.
“Don’t really know,” Todder said flatly. “It was me gran who raised me. Dad died when I was little.”
Another sidelong glance from Schmilda to Begonia.
“And what about her? Your granny, that is.”
“Oh, well, she dabbled in a few things.” It was Begonia’s turn to fire a sidelong expression across the room. She took a sip of cold coffee. “Witchcraft, mostly.” Todder dropped that one like a hot coal.
Coffee shot from Begonia’s nose, and she sat up, sputtering.
“Oh, but she was nothin’ like you all,” Todder offered, attempting to wipe the coffee up with the sleeve of his crusty shirt. “She was, uh…” He thought a moment—old, grumpy, senile—similar as these two witches. The other one, the one veiled in makeup, had left the room before Todder’d gotten a good look at her or her temperament. Finally, he said, “She, uh, she liked tea. Not coffee.”
Todder smiled, having found a suitable answer.
But the answer didn’t sit well with the witches. Begonia lost her teeth with the coffee, and luckily, this time it all landed back in her cup.
“Told you,” Schmilda whispered.
Being raised by a witch, Todder knew better than to ask what exactly Schmilda told and to whom. He smiled dumbly at the lot of ‘em.
Sight Beyond Epik Sight: A Steampunk Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 3) Page 12
