by Tim Susman
“Ah, the Flower.” Ernest chewed at the stone fireplace, ineffectively.
John watched the lizard, a smile playing over his lips. Kip thought John must have had a pet once upon a time. “Fella like you,” the old man said after a moment, “could wipe out the whole British fleet with a thought. Drop a bunch of these lizards on them.”
“They’ve got sorcerers too. It’s more complicated than that.”
“Aye, of course it is. But take it from someone who’s lived through a war.” John pushed himself to his feet. “Longer it goes on, the worse it is for the people. Even those not in battle. Business here is down, food goes to the army first, every night we can’t sleep for fear of hearing the enemy at our door. End it quick. Want another ale?”
“It’s not really up to me,” Kip laughed. He got to his feet. “And no, I’d best be on my way. I’ve left Alice behind and I’ve found most of what I came for. But…” He paused. “If you hear anything—about anything—I’d be obliged if you’d send word to the First Sorcerers Division. That’s where I’ve been conscripted.”
“First Sorcerers Division,” Old John repeated. “Aye, if I’m able.”
“Take care.” Kip gathered his books and asked Nikolon to help him visualize the room he’d left a little while ago.
When he appeared there, Alice wasn’t the only one in the room. Malcolm had his arm around her shoulder and someone behind Kip was in mid-shout. “—must have some idea!”
Jackson’s voice and scent registered with Kip even as the Master Colonel changed his tone. “Oh, and here he is. Penfold, perhaps you can explain what dire emergency led you to leave your quarters without leave from your commanding officer?”
Captain Lowell flanked Jackson, his face set in a stern frown. “I—” Kip set the books down on the desk. “I went back to the College to get some books for Alice. I didn’t realize…”
“You’re part of the military now.” Jackson stepped closer, staring down at Kip from his imposing height, and the growl in his voice pushed Kip down even farther. “Until further notice, you’re restricted to the Trade House.”
“But—”
“And you’ll address me as ‘sir’ or as ‘Master Colonel.’ If you break discipline again, I’ll remove magic from you until you’re needed for battles. Is that clear?”
Kip swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Jackson turned to his captain. “Lowell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll move up to this room. Clearly these College people need military discipline, so you’ll educate them and enforce it as needed. Observe strict bedtimes and waking times.”
The captain’s mouth twisted, but he said, “Yes, sir,” without any protest.
It wasn’t until Jackson had left that Kip felt able to voice his frustration. “Where does he think I went? To cozy up to the British?” He strode to the window and threw his arms in the air, staring outside so he wouldn’t be looking at all the wood in the room and thinking about how easily it would burn. “I’m the one who wants to go after them!”
“It doesn’t matter where you went,” Lowell explained. “You’re in the Army now, and subject to the discipline of your commanding officer.”
“Who is that?” Kip demanded. “You?”
“Captain Marsh. And Master Colonel Jackson over him.”
“Say,” Malcolm interjected, walking over to stand by Kip. “Why isn’t it Master Captain Marsh?”
“Because…” Lowell turned and frowned. “Because Captain Marsh isn’t a master yet.”
“He’s an apprentice like us?” Kip couldn’t quite believe that. “He’s got a raven.”
Malcolm put a hand on Kip’s arm. “Maybe he’d like to come for lessons with Alice.”
The idea made Kip laugh, and that plus Malcolm’s steadying presence beside him broke down his anger. He took a breath and then another, and then counted to ten and back (one of the exercises Cott had taught him). “He’s welcome to come if he likes,” he said. “As long as Master Colonel Jackson has no objection to me continuing the education of Miss Cartwright.”
This last was with a glare at Captain Lowell, who remained impassive. “As long as it takes place in this room, I doubt he cares what transpires. Study and practice are how military men often pass their days. Although,” he said, walking over to the desk behind which they’d moved Alice’s cot, “perhaps we can give Miss Cartwright more privacy. There’s a wooden screen in one of the second-floor rooms that I believe we could bring up here.”
Alice protested that she had enough privacy, but only mildly, and so Kip and Lowell went to get the screen. When they’d installed it in the room, Alice spent a good deal of time sitting behind it and reading.
They all did a lot of that, including Malcolm when he wasn’t contributing to the wards on the house. Kip had thought some of the other military sorcerers might want to learn fire spells, or see them demonstrated, but they remained stubbornly incurious, so he taught Alice for a couple hours each day and studied his own books while she studied the ones he’d brought her.
She pestered him to let her summon an elemental, but he worried about getting himself in further trouble with Jackson. Kip had been subject to Patris’s rages when his summonings had gone wrong and he didn’t wish to put either Alice or himself on the wrong side of Jackson’s temper. When he’d proved himself to Jackson and earned the right to ask a favor, then perhaps he could give Alice that practice.
It was at the end of the week that he learned when he would first have the opportunity. British ships had been sighted outside Boston Harbor, and the British Army camp that had been growing north of Boston had greeted the sight with activity and excitement. An attack on the harbor was suspected. The cities of Philadelphia and New York reported similar movement.
Kip and Malcolm and Alice had talked late into the night about what it would be like to be in a battle, with a good deal of apprehension as the possibility became more real. The following morning, though, when it came to the planning of the battle, Master Colonel Jackson’s calm assurance and the quiet confidence of Captains Marsh and Lowell did much to help ease their minds.
“First of all, I am to remind you of the rules of war. You are not to kill enemy soldiers directly with magic. You may harass them, you may make the going difficult or treacherous, but you are not to kill them directly.”
“Yes, sir,” everyone replied. Jackson’s countenance remained impassive as he delivered this order, but Kip caught a glimpse of Captain Marsh’s face and thought he saw a smirk before the captain composed himself.
“Now, our strategy. The Boston Neck and Charlestown Neck are of paramount importance, being the only land access from the mainland to the harbor,” Jackson said over a large map in the dining room. “One unit of sorcerers will cover each. Marsh and Dapper, I want you there. One unit will be at the harbor itself to aid the soldiers should the British ships attempt an assault. Callahan, that’s yours.”
At a guess based on Captain Marsh’s explanation, Kip had made there to be five units of sorcerers housed in the Trade House, including himself, Alice, and Malcolm, although they did not have a translocational sorcerer assigned them yet. “One unit,” Jackson continued, “will remain at the Armory in case of another cowardly sneak attack. Johnston, that’s yours. Now, we know the British tactics because they’ve been our own. They like to make the terrain difficult with elementals and harass the soldiers with demons. But they want to remain in line of sight of the battle at all times. There’s nowhere above the harbor they can hide, so some will likely be on ships. They may try to take the hills overlooking the harbor, but there are fortifications there, so I’d expect them to try to appear on the roofs of harbor buildings. That’s where I would send you—were I still a British officer.” Jackson sneered. “Marsh and Dapper, you’re defending the Necks, not soldiers. There are small customs-houses on each Neck, but they will be expecting us to use them, so I want you to dress out of uniform and pose as fishermen in a small b
oat off the Neck.”
“Out of uniform?” Captain Marsh said, and then clapped his mouth shut. “But sir, the rules of war.”
“I’ve discussed this with General Hamilton. We are far outmatched in this war in terms of supplies, in terms of personnel, in terms of materiel. We must scrap for every advantage we can get. This also means you cannot bring calyxes with you, so you must summon your demons at the onset of the battle and be judicious in their use.”
“So who gets them?” One of the sorcerers they didn’t know pointed to Kip and Alice.
Jackson frowned. “What?”
“Who gets those calyxes?”
Marsh stepped forward. “These are not calyxes. Kip Penfold and Alice Cartwright are apprentice sorcerers.”
Two other sorcerers looked at Kip as though seeing him for the first time, while those who’d met him looked down at the table. “Sorcerers? Calatians?”
“Had you not heard?” One of his fellows rounded on him. “The Calatian sorcerer who saved the College?”
“Why would I have heard about that?” But the sorcerer regarded Kip more thoughtfully. “Both of them?”
Jackson brought the flat of his hand down on the table. “You ladies may gossip later. Captain Lowell, your unit lacks a translocational sorcerer so your unit will be placed north of the Charlestown Neck and will harass the soldiers as they arrive and, God willing, harass their retreat.”
Kip thought this sounded like the safest of the positions, but Lowell did not look at all happy about it. Despite this, his “yes, sir” was crisp and professional.
Later, up in the room they all now shared, Kip asked him about it. “It’s a brush-off,” the captain said. “Putting us out of the way of the battle. He might as well have asked us to guard this empty house.”
“Someone was sent to guard the Armory,” Kip said.
“Aye, because someone’s attacked it and it’s a known target.” Lowell strode back and forth in the room. “He as much as told you that you’re useless.”
“Me?” Kip exclaimed.
“Without a translocational sorcerer, anyway.”
“Isn’t it his job to assign us one?” Malcolm asked.
“If he felt we were worth it.” Lowell dragged the chair over to the window and sat there, staring moodily out.
“He’s not likely to be good company,” Malcolm said to Kip. “Let’s go over some alchemical magic. Got your book? I want to try Sendivogius’s Petrification again.”
The next day dawned cloudy and cool. Kip, Alice, and Malcolm gathered with the others in the common room of the Trade House, all dressed in regular clothes. Master Colonel Jackson had his map out and small wooden counters in red and blue to show the last known positions of the British and American forces, while his raven peered down from the top of a cabinet. The red counters, for the British, lay a few miles north of the Charlestown hills, while a few blue counters guarded the hills, and the rest were clustered around the harbor and the two Necks that gave access to it. “We’d hoped for naval support, but the shipyards south of Boston haven’t been able to deliver,” Jackson said. “Marsh and Dapper, as you defend the Necks, look to Bunker’s Hill and Dorchester Hill to make sure the soldiers are keeping them secure. If there’s fighting, don’t hesitate to engage.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.
“Callahan, the British will likely try to land ships at Noddle Island so they can fire across at the harbor. Water will be good to prevent them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But first, take Lowell’s unit around to Bunker’s Hill. From there they should be able to see the British and aid our forces if needed.”
“Yes, sir.” The tall, dark-haired man eyed Kip, Malcolm, Alice, and Captain Lowell. “You lot ready?”
“I suppose,” Kip said.
“Here.” Lowell pressed a bag onto Alice. “These are our rations for the day. Some biscuits, some dried meats. Hold onto it.”
She opened her mouth, ears flat and indignant, but took the bag and slung it over one shoulder without a word.
“I’ll have to do this in two goes,” Callahan said, a lilt in his voice that reminded Kip of Malcolm’s, though not as strong and set in a harsher tone. “Who’s first?”
“Take the Calatians,” Lowell said. “O’Brien and I will follow.”
“Right.” Callahan seized Kip’s wrist and then Alice’s, and a moment later they stood atop a hill, wind blowing a light drizzle into their fur. Callahan released them and disappeared while they took stock of where they stood. Kip faced the wide Charles River and across it, the Boston Harbor. Below him on that side, amid scraggly brush and muddy soil and a few wooden buildings clustered disorganized groups of ten to fifteen men in uniforms of mottled red and blue. Most talked amongst themselves, though a few watched up the hill and some watched out to the harbor.
The sea, grey and choppy, faded out to a mist, where Kip thought he saw shadows moving but couldn’t resolve them. If Nikolon were present, she’d be able to tell Kip where the ships were, but as of now they were unlikely to affect his part of the battle. Toward the harbor, he could make out more groups of blue-clad men in position around the buildings there; the British ships would be their responsibility. He didn’t have to do everything.
Callahan reappeared with Malcolm and Lowell and vanished again. Kip turned to greet them and then caught footsteps coming up the hill. He and the others turned to see a stocky man, red of hair and face, hurrying toward them. “For God’s sake,” he called as he got closer, “do you wish to be targets? Get down here.”
Kip took Malcolm’s arm and guided his friend down the hill as they ran to meet the uniformed man, whose left shoulder bore what Kip had come to recognize as a lieutenant’s bar (that and a captain’s, which appeared on the right shoulder, were the only ones he knew with confidence). “You’re the sorcerer, aye?” he asked Malcolm, and then got a better look at his face. “Strewth!”
“One of them.” Malcolm smiled easily. “Don’t trouble yourself, I can get around just lovely with my friends, thank you.”
“Then…” The lieutenant looked at the uniformed black man, then at the two Calatians. “You’re all sorcerers?”
“I’m the officer in charge.” Lowell stepped forward. “Craig Lowell.”
The lieutenant saluted. “Robert Murkey, sir, of Braintree. We’ve spotted the British but there’s been no sorcery yet that we can tell.”
“Good.” Lowell rubbed his hands together. “Which fortification has the best view of the hill and the approaching army?”
The lieutenant looked around at the hill, up the dirt road lined with small wooden houses on either side. “Fortification’s a generous word, sir. That house there, I’d say, with the red painted windows. You’ve got a view up to the hill and it looks out over Charlestown as well. I’ve got three men there but we can move them if it suits you. We’re grateful for magical support.”
“If there’s room, they can stay.” Captain Lowell took charge, and Kip was happy to let him. In all of his imagining of the war, he had simply been in the right place to work his magic. He’d never had to think about what that place might be or how to get there. Nor, for that matter, what to do. Doubt crept into his mind. There were no obvious targets in reach for him, save the British soldiers who, he guessed, would soon be charging over that hill. Their weapons perhaps? Or if they brought a cannon along?
Perhaps, he thought, Emily’s negotiations had succeeded and even as they entered the small house, the Spanish fleet was on its way. The British would surrender, and no lives would be lost. He wouldn’t have a chance to prove himself, but he’d take that tradeoff.
His reverie shattered as they opened the door to the small house, releasing a smell so bad that Kip had to take a step back outside. Alice gave him a quizzical look as she passed him and then hurried back out to his side. “Oh,” she said, gasping, “it’s horrible. I smelled it outside but I thought it wasn’t going to be any worse.”
&nbs
p; “They must not be leaving the house to…” Kip breathed into his paw. “We’re going to have to go in there.”
“It can’t be pleasant for them.” Alice reached into the small bag she kept at her side and brought out two cloths. “Here. These were going to be bandages, but I think we need them now.”
Kip took the cloth gratefully and folded it into his paw. Holding it to his nose, he went back inside, where Captain Lowell was talking to three men with thick beards who smelled almost as bad as the makeshift toilet they’d been using. “Sorry,” the first said when he saw the foxes enter. “It’s hell on us living here too, so you know.”
The second, watching out the window, turned to them. “At least here we’re not fighting for space with a dozen other men.”
“Just the three of us. And it’ll be over today one way or t’other,” the first man said.
“Or tomorrow.” Captain Lowell took a look out of one window. “Penfold, station yourself here. O’Brien, cast your wards.”
“Alice,” Kip said, “why don’t you watch Malcolm cast the wards?”
“I’ve seen it.” She gave Kip a look that said, you know this.
“But not,” Malcolm said, “these kinds of wards. I’ll tell you what I’m doing as I do it, shall I?”
Alice followed his gaze to the three soldiers, also watching. “Ah,” she said. “That would be lovely.”
“All right then.” Malcolm said. “Now, you know the types of wards, yes?”
“Prevention, Inattention, Protection…” She chewed her lip. “There’s another one, isn’t there?”
“You’re forgiven.” Malcolm intoned a few syllables. “Stasis is the simplest one but also the easiest to forget. Stasis prevents magic from affecting a physical object. Like if you wanted to keep someone from sorcering open your lock. Or in this case, I’ve just cast a stasis ward on this house so that no other sorcerer can pick it up and fling it away.”
“That’s useful.” Alice found a small rug that had been pushed into a corner and pulled it a little away from the wall. She sat cross-legged on it, the cloth still to her nose, and kept her attention on Malcolm.
