by Tim Susman
He held a paw out, and Kip clasped it. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you. I would not dare to attempt something like this if it were not led by someone I trust so greatly.”
Abel’s paw, warm and reassuring, squeezed his. Kip didn’t want to let go, and it seemed Abel did not either, because they held each other’s paw for several long seconds.
Aran and Arabella returned while they were making plans to continue meeting, and so Alice got to meet them formally, kneeling down to hug them both. “Take good care,” she said, and they hugged her back, wagging their tails.
“We are at war,” Kip said to Abel, “so make sure to take extra caution. You don’t know which of your friends might betray you to the sorcerers.”
“I am as sure of my friends as I can be, and we will keep the particulars from the others until the last moment.” Abel set a paw on Kip’s shoulder. “Be careful as well. You may be part of the American army, but you are still a Calatian.”
“I know. I have good friends around me, and it does my heart good to know that you and I work toward the same goal.” He put an arm around Alice’s shoulders.
“It was lovely to see you again,” Alice said.
“And you, Miss Cartwright.” Abel bowed to her. “Take care, the two of you.”
The wards on the Trade House were still set to allow Kip to translocate in, so he sent Alice first and then himself. When he appeared, Captain Lowell was sitting up in his dressing-gown, rubbing his eyes. “Penfold,” the man said, and shot to his feet. “Where the devil have you been? We went back to New Cambridge and you weren’t there. Master Colonel Jackson says he’s going to take your magic, so you’d best have a good argument ready.”
“Would he do that?” Alice asked.
“He has. In the Napoleonic War, there was a man who had his magic taken. He deserted again and Master Colonel Jackson had him executed.”
“Executed?” Kip flattened his ears as Malcolm stirred and sat up, turning his head back and forth to focus in on sounds.
“War is not a pleasant business,” Lowell said.
Alice’s eyes were wide and ears as flat as Kip’s, but at his gaze she shook her head, assumed a stern expression, and mouthed a mimicry of Lowell’s words: War is not a pleasant business. The humor settled Kip and gave his tail a little wag.
He went through the broad strokes of their plan quickly. “So,” he concluded, “if my friend can bribe the barge captain and get the Calatians on board, they should have several hours before their absence is noticed, perhaps a whole night.”
“And then how many translocational sorcerers would it take?”
“For a hundred and sixty Calatians? I don’t know. How many translocations can one sorcerer do before getting tired? The British had four for the village of New Cambridge. We might need only half that many.”
“Two.” Lowell rubbed his chin. “It could be done, yes. There is risk.”
“There was risk in the British attack on New Cambridge. They lost four translocational sorcerers.” Kip said the words with equal parts pride and revulsion, and a measure of worry that the memory did not bother him as much as the memory of killing the soldier at the battle of Boston Harbor. “But they lost nobody and captured the entire town of Peachtree.”
Lowell nodded. “I am not Master Colonel Jackson, nor yet General Hamilton, but the plan seems sound to me. Do you propose to take it to them?”
“I wondered if perhaps you might accompany me,” Kip said. “Master Colonel Jackson’s latest impressions of me are not the best, and I would prefer that his reaction to this plan not be influenced by them.”
The captain frowned. “I will accompany you if you so desire.” He stood. “In the morning. Good night, you three.”
Despite Lowell’s dismissal of his worries, Kip felt they had been well founded. Jackson’s first move upon seeing Kip was to advance on him, and without Lowell interposing himself, Kip felt sure he would have lost his magic. Lowell entreated the Master Colonel to hear Kip out, and with visible effort, Jackson restrained his anger and sat to listen.
As Kip presented the plan, Jackson directed all his questions to Lowell, even when the captain deferred them immediately to Kip. “It is an interesting thought,” the Master Colonel said when Kip finished, and the fox was relieved to see that he no longer seemed to be in danger of losing his magic. “I will consult with General Hamilton and decide our best course of action.”
“Sir,” Lowell said. “You have said many times that we are at a disadvantage because the British have brought the fight to our shores, that they may strike at our lines of supply and our homes.”
“We have that advantage,” Jackson corrected him, “that our supplies are close to our troops, where they must bring them across the water. We have the advantage of desperation, because our homes are threatened. The British fight for possessions; we fight for our very lives.”
“Yes, sir,” Lowell said.
Jackson turned to the window and stared out at the Boston street, cobblestones glistening in the spring morning. “And yet, it would be quite the coup to strike at England on her own soil. She might reconsider this war if we could demonstrate that we could hurt her where she thinks herself safest.”
“And,” Kip said, “we could strike at the resource they seem to value: their calyxes.”
“Yes.” The Master Colonel stroked his beard. Though they had sought him out first thing in the morning, he wore his uniform, immaculately pressed, and he’d already trimmed his beard and washed, to judge from his smell. It made Kip acutely aware that he hadn’t had a chance to wash or brush out his fur for days and that he still smelled of the Thames.
After another moment’s pondering, not looking at either of them, Jackson said, “I suppose this idea presents enough interest that I shall discuss it with General Hamilton. He and I may be able to put enough particulars around it to make it tenable.”
And that was the end of the interview. Kip and Lowell returned to their room, where Kip said, “Tenable? Tenable? We outlined the whole plan. What more does he need?”
“It may be that our plan does not fit with the American overall strategy,” Lowell said. “Master Colonel Jackson has information we do not.”
“It may be.” Kip stalked to the window. “It may be also that he wants to take credit for our idea.”
“Your idea,” Captain Lowell reminded him.
“My idea.” Kip sighed and paced back and forth. “I suppose if we have to wait, I’ll go wash.”
They waited for two days before hearing from Master Colonel Jackson, during which time they did not hear from Emily either. At least they were not confined to quarters, so they could go out (as long as they went as a group, warded by Malcolm) and see the town of Boston. Kip fretted, because he’d told Abel he would meet him again soon, and he didn’t want to go back without news.
But in the afternoon of the second day, they were summoned to the first floor, where Master Colonel Jackson received them in his office. “I have consulted at length with General Hamilton,” Jackson began. “We have determined that there is indeed some merit in your plan, but we have changed certain aspects of it to render it strategically more valuable.”
Kip drew in a breath. “What aspects?”
Kip arrived at the plaza at what must have been four in the morning, London time. Only one other figure occupied the small open space, a fox with a stub for a tail who rose to meet him as soon as he arrived. They embraced, and Abel’s smile set Kip’s tail wagging. “Good news, I take it?”
Abel nodded. “Mostly. Nearly all the calyxes have agreed to come along. Grinda has not yet, but I hold out hope that we can convince her.”
“She hasn’t because of me, right?” When Abel nodded, slowly, Kip sighed. “Then this news won’t help convince her.”
“What news?”
Kip sat down on the stoop Abel had occupied, and the other fox sat next to him. “We took the plan to our superiors, and they changed it.”
Abel leaned back. “How?”
“They said we would need too many translocational sorcerers. Two to transport all of you, and two to be standing by on alert in case of trouble to transport all of us back. We don’t have that many to spare, it seems. They may be more conscious of the risk since I killed four British translocational sorcerers two days ago. At any rate, he doesn’t want to risk more than one, and that means they want you to take the barge a little farther.”
The other fox’s brow lowered and his ears flattened out. “How much farther?”
“To Bristol. Well, Lechlade, just short of—”
Abel cut him off. “To the Road?”
Kip nodded, his own ears folded back. “They want to meet you along the Road, pick you up in an American vessel in the middle of the ocean.”
“That would take days. How is this a better plan? How are we to stay safe, a hundred and fifty Calatians moving through England as traitors?”
“That’s the only good part of all this.” Kip put a paw on Abel’s. “They want me to be one of the sorcerers who goes with you.”
Abel’s ears came up. “That’s something, at least. But I don’t understand how drawing this plan out for two extra days makes it more likely to succeed.”
“It doesn’t. It makes us less likely to suffer a crippling loss. But look: from Lechlade to the Road I can carry you, or between Alice and I we can. So we needn’t stick to roads, and we needn’t enter the Road at Eastgate. We can find a beach to the south and go out to sea, meet the Road a little bit offshore.”
“That will help,” Abel admitted. “I still don’t like it.”
“I’ll keep you as safe as I can, and Malcolm will be with us to keep us hidden and warded. Alice will use air elementals to navigate and bring the Americans to the Road at exactly the right place. British ships patrol it, but Malcolm can hide our group from view.” When Abel didn’t speak, Kip said, “I don’t fully understand what lies behind these changes either, and if any other sorcerer were entrusted with this mission, I could not recommend going through with it. But you know I will protect you to the best of my ability.”
Abel nodded. “Your ability is the least of my worries in all of this. What if we are discovered on the barge? What if we are seen on the way to the Road? What if a British ship spots us on the Road, or intercepts our ship on the way to America?” He met Kip’s eyes. “What if the Americans treat us as badly as the British?”
“At the worst, if you are captured,” Kip said, “the British value your lives.”
“Execution would fall to me and the other leaders. Well…that risk we can decide to take.”
Kip didn’t let his mind linger on that. “As for the Americans, that is also on my mind. I can only tell you what I have seen, which is that Calatians are treated better in America than in England. At least, better than on the Isle of Dogs.”
“So have I also heard. And yet, so attached are we to our home that without the pressure of this war, I doubt more than twenty would come with me.”
“And also,” Kip said, “In America, Calatians may become sorcerers, as you know. Here that does not seem to be the case yet.”
“No.” Abel rubbed his eyes. “Alastair Cotton, cousin to the Cottons you know, did not return yesterday from the College. More and more calyxes are called every day.”
“Do you know for what spells?” Kip asked.
Abel shook his head. “I gave my blood and was dismissed. I asked questions but received no answer. Thomas says he thinks they are casting spying spells to look at the positions of the armies, over and over again over all the territory of America. Whatever it is, it is killing us.” He stood, and Kip hurried to join him. “I will return to the Isle and attempt to convince everyone—again—to this plan.”
A new worry piled onto all the others. “Don’t let them kill you.”
The fox smiled. “I’ve survived one war already. I’ll survive this one.”
“See that you do.”
Kip sat for a long moment after Abel left, watching the sky lighten in the east. The whole venture felt foolhardy to him now. What did he hope to accomplish? He’d started out hoping to strike a blow at the Empire, one that would weaken them enough that they would call an end to the war. Now, although Jackson and apparently Hamilton had found merit in his plan, Kip himself questioned it. There were fifteen hundred Calatians on the Isle, or more; would taking a hundred and fifty of them really make a difference?
It might, he reasoned, psychologically if nothing else. Striking at King’s College was as close as Kip could get to striking a blow against Albright. He had hoped that his desire for revenge had been quenched by fighting in the war, but Albright’s reappearance had only stoked the fire. The ease with which he’d stalked Kip made the fox feel powerless, and he did not like that feeling. He wanted Albright to have a taste of it.
The sun crept higher; he needed to leave. Around the corner of the building he’d been sitting in front of, he found a deep shadow from which he could translocate back. The last reason to rescue the British calyxes, and it was not a very good one, was that if he didn’t do this, then he didn’t know what else he could do. He only knew that if he spent the rest of the war being sent to battles, killing soldiers, seeing victories and defeats that added up to a years-long war, frustration would overwhelm him.
Perhaps this idea of his meant that he really was suited to being a military sorcerer. He shuddered and put that thought out of his mind.
12
The Rescue
After two more meetings with Abel, one of which was cut short when Kip thought he saw someone watching them, the plan was set. Abel had convinced most of the calyxes to come, mostly by the expedient of warning them how bad the situation would be for any few who remained behind. This made Kip nervous, though not as nervous as Master Colonel Jackson’s refusal to give more than the blandest, vaguest assurance that the British Calatians would not be treated as prisoners but as American people.
What made him most nervous was that he didn’t understand why Jackson and Hamilton had made his plan more complicated, more prone to failure, more reliant on his unit of sorcerers for a longer time. Worrying over the cost of translocational sorcerers made some sense, and if they trusted his ability to escape any dangerous situation, he could believe that they wanted to place more of the risk on the British Calatians. Similarly, a mass evacuation would be easiest at sea, and with the Calatians unable to commandeer a boat and sail it, the Road was a logical destination. All the pieces of the plan made a sort of sense individually; it was when Kip strung one after the other that they seemed untenable.
More than once he decided to tell Abel that the whole plan was off, and every time he talked himself out of it. The British calyxes had put their faith in him, and to back out now would damage that relationship. He and Malcolm and Alice could protect the Calatians, could fight off whatever soldiers and even sorcerers the British sent against them. He would have to keep Nikolon alert for the entire time, Malcolm would have Daravont, and Alice would have air elementals. He suspected that at some level, Jackson expected him to fail, and that made him even more determined to succeed.
He did not share these misgivings with Malcolm or Alice, and only a little with Captain Lowell, because Lowell’s deep faith in his commander helped Kip see that there must be more to the plan than he knew. “Only execute your part faithfully,” Lowell said, “and in time you will see how you contributed to our victory.”
“I wish you could come with us.” The words surprised Kip even as he said them.
Lowell smiled. “As do I. But the fewer people on this mission, the better.”
He meant that in two ways; fewer people in general, but also fewer humans. Kip nodded and then a trace smell made him fold his ears back. Lowell was sweating, more than he should for as cool as the room was. The captain was nervous about something. Not very nervous, not so much that Kip thought he was plotting against them, but he definitely knew something that he wasn’t tel
ling Kip, something related to the mission.
Lowell was a good soldier. Kip had to trust that whatever it was, it wasn’t knowledge that would make his mission less dangerous. He believed that Lowell would tell him when everything was over. Or else…he would find out before then.
He, Alice, Malcolm, and Broadwood, who had been assigned as their translocational sorcerer for this mission, wrapped themselves in cloaks, the foxes with hoods to hide their ears. Broadwood didn’t know London, so Master Colonel Jackson himself took the memory of the riverbank from Kip and showed it to Broadwood. The young man rubbed his cheeks and nodded, and a moment later the four of them stood in the chill night along the Thames River.
Malcolm had them warded within moments, and then he and Kip summoned their demons, breathing the names so Broadwood wouldn’t hear. When they had been bound, Malcolm kept Daravont near them to watch out for sorcerers or other people who might interfere, and Kip took a moment to talk to Nikolon.
This mission may last three or four days, he said. I will have need of your services for much of that time. When I can afford it, I will give you rest, but there may not be an opportunity to do so.
Yes, master.
Kip studied the vixen’s features for any sign of understanding. Do you understand what I am saying?
She nodded. You are defining the length of this portion of my service.
I’m saying I am sorry that it is to be this long. I will do what I can do make it less onerous.
Now there was a flicker on her muzzle. You need not apologize to me. I am your servant.
I know I need not, Kip said. Nevertheless.
She inclined her head. What is my first task?
He sent her to find the barge on the water; she found it in minutes and guided them over. Below the great red-brown sails, the deck of the barge was packed with Calatians.
