by Tim Susman
“Once you’re in the safe location—”
“Bring food,” Alice interrupted.
“Yes, bring a day’s worth of food,” Kip went on. “I hope we won’t need that much, but there isn’t a whole lot to eat there. We can send provisions along if we need to. But once you’re there, I would like a leader from each community to accompany me back to Boston. We will talk to the American leaders and inform them that we can give them the power to end the war—if they concede certain rights to us.”
“What rights?” the Boston vixen asked.
“That’s why I want you all there,” Kip said. “All I know is that I want a place where we can be left alone. I don’t think we can stop being calyxes; that’s the reason we’re valuable.” Grinda didn’t like that, but didn’t interrupt him. “But we can put limits on it. We can make sure that only those who volunteer and understand will participate. We can ensure that Calatians with an affinity for magic can be trained as sorcerers.”
“What about owning land?” Bryce Morgan asked.
“What about punishing people who cut off tails?” Grinda growled, making the American Calatians look at her tail while Abel stood very still.
“All of that,” Kip said.
“And why America? Why not approach Britain too? Play them off against each other, see which one gives us more?” the wolf asked.
“I believe there’s more chance of getting what we want in a newly-formed country than in asking an old empire to change,” Kip said. “But I know there will be some who favor the British side, especially among the Isle. I hope Abel and I may convince them to stand together as Calatians.”
“We had some Calatians who favor the British side,” the Boston vixen said. “Not many. They went and joined the Royal Army, or tried.” The New York rat nodded in agreement.
“So because the Isle is in the minority, we lose.” The wolf sniffed.
At least she wasn’t snarling at him anymore. He opened his mouth to answer, but Abel spoke before he could. “America, if she forces peace, can dictate terms of peace for those of us who must go back to London.”
“Yes.” Kip nodded. “That should be included in any talks.”
“And how do we know the humans will keep their word?” This was the rat again. “They’ve lied to us over and over. What if they make us promises and then punish us for rebelling?”
“If we help them win the war,” Kip said, “we’re not rebelling. Nor are we traitors.”
“Except us British,” Grinda pointed out.
“And who is there to call us ‘traitor’ except those who would be coming along with us?” Abel asked. “When we go back to the Isle, we’ll all be complicit.”
“The sorcerers…”
Abel laughed. “So now you care what the sorcerers think? Will you be going to tea with them?”
Grinda scowled. Kip held up a paw. “She brings up a good point. The Calatians the world over will have to live with sorcerers. We hope that as a result of this war, there will be more freedom of movement. Isle Calatians will be freer to move to America, or perhaps to Holland. If anyone finds the London sorcerers particularly intolerable, they may seek their fortunes elsewhere.”
The wolf stared at him levelly and then said, “We have freedom now,” but she said it quietly and did not seem to require an answer.
Kip waited for any other questions. When none came, he asked Alice to return herself and the leaders to the ground, explaining that he would stay on the roof to watch for Emily’s arrival with the other sorcerers. Ash took off and wheeled around, then headed to the forest in search of food while Kip went to one of the parapets and leaned over it, one paw pressed to the ancient stone.
Did you hear that? he asked into the stone.
The breeze fluttered against his tunic. The sun came out from behind a cloud and warmed his fur. The stone of the parapet remained cool to his touch.
After several seconds, Peter replied. I heard.
We are a small people up against the might of an empire. Any help would be most useful.
What can I do?
You’re a spiritual sorcerer, the only one I can trust. Kip paused. I know you’re bound to this building, but can you maybe teach me a useful spell? I learned how to break spiritual holds.
I don’t know what could be useful.
Maybe… Kip looked down at the guards. If the guards come and find an empty building, you could cast a spiritual hold on them? I don’t know. But I needed to ask. His fingers traced the cracks of the stone. Anything you can think of that might help…
Peter paused again, a long pause. How long before you need to leave?
Kip squinted up at the sun. Emily and Lowell would be in Gibraltar by now, hopefully, if not collecting the last of the Dutch sorcerers. They had hoped to be back in New Cambridge by one in the afternoon, and then five more hours to translocate all the Calatians here (assuming everyone could be convinced) plus the military calyxes before he would leave for the Isle. Seven hours, perhaps eight, he said.
It might be enough. Peter’s voice came faintly and then strengthened. After…what happened last year, I became frustrated with my prison. I withdrew for a few months and thought it would be best if I did not talk to anyone again.
Kip fidgeted, understanding this sentiment all too well. He’d had his friends to help him through that time, and though he had once or twice asked Peter to talk, he hadn’t thought that Peter might feel as guilty as he himself did. After all, Peter’s entire purpose was to protect the Tower and the people in it.
But that is lonely. And at the end of it I thought that I could devise a way whereby I might leave the Tower, in case anyone needed my help again. And then I failed to protect the Masters against a direct invasion. What if I leave the Tower and fail again?
You could leave the Tower? Kip tried to restrain his excitement. I can see how dangerous that might be. But I promise you that if you’re in my care, I will do all I can to protect you.
The ensuing silence went on long enough that Kip sat down with his back against a parapet and his paw resting on the stone of the roof. I felt like I’d failed too, he said. I lost my best friend because I wasn’t quite smart enough, wasn’t quite fast enough. But if this works…it could change the world. And you could help us succeed.
The fault wasn’t yours. Master Windsor conducted his treachery here under my supervision.
Kip closed his eyes. There is fault enough to go around, but I believe the main fault rests with Master Windsor and Master Albright. They cast the spells that killed our friends and colleagues.
Peter digested that for a moment. What if my spell doesn’t work? What if I’m unbound forever?
I don’t know, Kip said. Could you be summoned like a demon? Could you be dismissed?
And then where would I go?
Kip leaned his head back against the stone. Where does anyone go? That’s for each of us to discover in our own time.
I’m scared.
I know. I am too. For myself and for everyone. Kip looked up at the clouds moving across the sky. If we succeed, though, he went on, it could be wonderful. We could have a college where Calatians are welcome to learn sorcery. Think about the classmates you might have had. That I might have had.
Peter’s voice grew stronger again. That does sound lovely.
You’re a Calatian as much as I am. And I want you to come with us, wherever we end up. I don’t think they will let us have this school, Kip said. But imagine if you could come live with us and protect all those new Calatian students.
I failed to protect—
You’d be with me, with Emily. We would help you be more effective.
Silence. Kip took a breath. If we could help you leave the Tower, you could help us make that dream real.
He breathed in the warm spring air. The stone beneath his paws seemed to tremble with the weight of the decision. And finally Peter said, Yes. Let me explain the spell to you.
The spell as Peter envisioned it wou
ld focus his being into one small part of the Tower, which could then be lifted away from it. Kip only needed to be there to see if it worked, and to take the piece if it did. He searched the roof for loose rocks; there was a great deal of debris gathered in the corners, but all the pieces of stone were either the size of his thumb—too small—or the two pieces larger than his foot.
In the end, Peter advised him to cut a piece of the right size away, which had the added advantage that it could be set right up against the Tower until it needed to be pulled away—and then put back if needed. Kip had no cutting tools but could send a thin line of fire through a section of stone, and given enough concentration, he could burn the stone.
He was afraid of hurting Peter, but the spirit encouraged him again to go ahead, and so, careful and determined to get it right the first time, he cut away a segment of stone that could fit inside the palm of his paw. The act of destroying the Tower even in such a small way felt transgressive, but he kept telling himself that this was what Peter wanted.
The palm-sized stone came away from the Tower, heavy, but not too heavy. He could keep it in his trouser pocket and thereby keep Peter nearby. Having a spiritual sorcerer at his side as an ally would shore up his confidence greatly; he had asked Emily whether one of the Dutch spiritual sorcerers could join them, but she didn’t know whether any would.
As the morning went on into afternoon, Peter worked on perfecting his spell. His theory was sound, but whether it was his own fear holding him back or some problem with the spell, he hadn’t managed to cast it successfully by the time the sun reached its zenith. Shortly after that, the gates opened to admit a cart full of food, so Kip left the stone on the parapet he’d cut it from and lowered himself to the ground to see how his allies fared.
In the Great Hall, a group of some thirty Calatians milled about. Alice and the New York rat walked quickly up to Kip when he entered. Both started to talk, but the rat talked more loudly and Alice, ears flat, let him go on. “Most of our people like your idea, or at least we could talk them into it,” he said, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This lot are scared or angry, and some of them want to talk to you, and some of them claim they just won’t budge.”
“I’ve convinced several of them.” Alice spared a quick angry glance at the rat. “These need to hear it from you.”
“All right,” Kip said. “Let me go talk to them.”
So he spent the next half hour making his way through the crowd. To the ones who worried that it was too dangerous, he assured them that he was taking most of the risk. “As the instigator,” he said, “if we’re stopped or this doesn’t work, it will all fall on me.”
“But we’re going along,” a dormouse said. “We’re collaborators.”
“There’s safety in numbers. They won’t blame all of you when they can publicly blame me. But,” he added, “the only way this can work is if we all go along. If some of you stay behind then we’ve already failed.”
“So you’ve put us in a position where we either go along with you or we bear responsibility for your death by hanging,” another fox said. “Shouldn’t you have asked us before you put these plans in place?”
“I had to move quickly,” Kip said. “This chance wouldn’t wait for days. And I am still asking you. You have the choice. If you don’t want to come along, there are places in the Tower where you can hide, or we could send you back to…New York?” He guessed from the accent. “And you can hide there, claim you were missed.”
“If you want to be a coward,” the rat said.
“It’s their choice.” Kip spread his paws. “I won’t think less of you.”
“I will, though.” The rat glared at the stubborn fox. “This thing he’s doing is taking a chance to make life better for all of us, permanently, and if you don’t have the courage to join us in the risk, you shouldn’t reap the reward.”
“I know how you feel,” the fox snapped back. “I have a family to think of. If I’d wanted to fight the humans for better conditions, I would’ve joined the Shakers a few years back, and been dumped in the East River with them as well.”
The rat said, “That was different!”
“How?” the fox asked.
“We have something they need,” Kip answered. “We have a chance to force them to listen. I heard about the Shakers, and I hated what happened to them. Tell me, did you refuse to follow them because you truly believed we don’t deserve better? Or because you thought they would fail?”
The fox’s ears went back at Kip’s words and he looked down. Kip pressed on. “We all have families, now or in the future. We’re doing this so they can grow up in a better world. I believe in that world. I’ve seen that when properly motivated, humans can treat us almost as equals. But they won’t bestow equality on us. We have to take it.
“If your cub shows promises of magic,” he said, lifting his arms and gathering magic so that the violet glow flickered along his black fur, “would you want them to be allowed to learn to use it? Should you own the land you live on, the building where you run your business?”
All of the Calatians in the room watched them silently. The fox raised his head slowly. “Is this possible?”
“I believe it is.” Kip extended his paw. “But I need all of you to help--we all need to work together to achieve it.”
The fox took a breath. “All right,” he said. “All right.” He reached out and grasped Kip’s paw.
There would be others, Kip knew; there always were. But he prayed that the fox and the others listening would spread the message of hope. More than anything, he prayed that the hope he had extended to them was not false.
He joined them for lunch, eating sparingly because there was not enough food to go around (there never was, he was told, but everyone made sure that the cubs were fed). More than a few Calatians came up to Kip in private and asked if this adventure would mean they would be fed, and he said that he hoped it would mean the end of the war and a return to a better life all around—including more food.
Toward the end of the meal, the New York rat brought another group of Calatians to Kip. “Give ’em the ‘equality’ speech again,” he said. “Go on, you lot. Listen to this, it’ll convince you.”
Kip tried to remember what he’d said, but in the end he spoke off the cuff as he had before. It made the same impression, and then one of the Calatians ran to get another group who’d been feeling doubts and Kip had to say the words all over again.
By the time he got back to the roof, he was fighting the mixed emotions of being grateful that he could inspire people and feeling intense pressure not to let them down. He lifted himself over the roof and to his surprise found Emily standing there flanked by a dozen men in black robes, most of them middle-aged and white, but one with tan skin and another with skin as dark as Captain Lowell’s. All of them had ravens on their shoulders, one asleep, the others looking around curiously.
“Hallo,” Emily said. “We were just about to come looking for you.”
The sorcerers behind Emily stared at Kip, and one asked in accented English, “Is that him?”
“Hello,” Kip said. “Yes, I’m Kip Penfold.”
He called Ash to him; she soared over from one of the parapets to land on his shoulder. Emily walked up and put her hand out for Ash to rub her beak against. “Captain Lowell went back to the Trade House to wait for you there,” she said. “Everything went swimmingly at Gibraltar. Your parents are fine. Hungry, but fine. Malcolm relieved the sorcerer at the gate and took charge of the ward, so he let it down just long enough for us to get through.”
“Is he—the other defensive sorcerer—going back to Boston?”
“Malcolm knows him a little, enough to know that when we told him the Founders Rest had some excellent ale, he would go down there right away.” She paused. “I asked about the spiritual sorcerers, but it sounds like nobody likes them very much. At least, none of these masters would go ask any of them to join us, and I didn’t have time. I’m sorry
. I can go back now if you like.”
“I think I have a solution,” Kip said. “You’re more valuable here, and we’re all ready, so we should start to go.”
“All right.” Emily smiled. “Just show us where to go.”
He tried to slow the beating of his heart, with a little success. “Everyone’s inside the Tower. I’ll take you.”
The Dutch sorcerers followed them, but once they were inside the Tower, they crowded around Kip, asking for the story of the Battle of the Road. He told them while they translocated the Calatians, because while they could do ten at a time with a calyx’s blood, they had to rest in between. Abel set up the calyxes in Master Splint’s room and collected their blood in flasks to take down so that it wouldn’t be visible to the other Calatians. Like Broadwood, the sorcerers reacted at first with revulsion, and one refused to participate in the ritual until he’d seen all his fellows drink the blood and marvel at the power.
When Kip had told the story of the Road, he cautioned the sorcerers that the calyx ritual must be kept secret. “Of course,” said the tan-skinned one, the most loquacious of them. “Master O’Brien told us and Master—Mistress—Carswell told us as well, and we are not stupid. If people heard of this, we might be hunted down as demon-worshippers. This explains at least in part why the ritual was not handed down.”
“And us as demons,” Kip said.
“Yes. The drink is revolting, but what it can do for us…we would work twice as long and hard as this for the chance to have this power at our disposal.”
