Magician In Training (Power of Poses Book 1)

by Guy Antibes

  “Thank you for your service to me,” Trak said as he staggered off the dock and into a strange city without a purse and without proof of his education or even of his identity.

  The sun still shone, but Trak needed food and fresh water. His stomach growled as he tried to come up with any options, but returning to Greenbrook sounded like the worst thing he could do.

  As he wandered through the city’s streets he passed a sign. Trak knew enough of his letters to make out the name: something Dance something. Could this be Honor Fidelia’s place? He had never heard of that as a last name for anyone before. Neel had told him to seek her out, even if she had to have been an imposing woman from Neel’s reaction to her memory. He had scoffed at seeking out a magician, but Trak felt the first urges of desperation. Perhaps she’d know how to restore the letter. That would be motivation enough to at least talk to the woman.

  He stepped inside and wondered what a dance studio was. Did people actually pay to learn how to dance? Evidently. Trak shook his head at the strange things city people did. There would be more stupefying facts.

  “Hello?” He called out to an empty store. He noticed racks of costumes that didn’t make any sense to him.

  “Looking for a bit of dance instruction, fella?” said a tall woman with a shock of bright coppery streak running down the side of her head contrasting with her dark hair. She was nearly as tall as Neel. Perhaps that had made his father’s friend a little off-put by the woman.

  “A friend suggested that I seek you out.”

  She squinted at Trak with dubious eyes. “Who, may I ask?”

  “An old acquaintance.” Trak wouldn’t hazard to say that Neel had been a friend. “Neel Cardswallow. Did he tell me the truth?”

  “What is the truth, but lies told in a more palatable way?” Trak could tell that she recognized the name.

  “I don’t believe that,” Trak said. “You are Honor Fidelia, aren’t you?”

  The witch or mage or whatever one would call a female magician snorted out a bit of a laugh. Perhaps entertaining the lady might get her to help him, he thought for one short minute. She walked around Trak. His clothes began to drip on her floor, and then her face turned grim.

  “Neel is hardly a friend,” she said. “We go back to before I first came to Pestle.”

  “I didn’t say he was a friend, yet he still recommended that I see you in Pestledown. I’ve come all the way from Greenbrook to claim my education and had to jump ship in the middle of the ocean to get here.”

  “You swam in the ocean to get here?”

  “I was about to be impressed into a ship’s company. I paid for my passage with work and I think they drugged me so I wouldn’t get off at Pestledown.” He just realized that must have been why he slept so late. He grit his teeth at the thought of such an evil trick. The cook and Dimmy must have been in on it. How could he trust anyone after that? “They were about a mile out when I jumped from the ship.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes and shook her head. “Didn’t the sharks eat you up?”

  Trak held out his hand. “No bite marks, although I did dissuade one.”

  “You did? How did you do that?” She gave him a ghost of a smile and sat down on a trunk, leaving Trak standing while his clothes continued to drip on her wooden floor.

  “I assumed the form of hand to hand combat and yelled STOP.” Trak just laughed. “It seemed like something happened and the shark disappeared from view. I wasn’t bothered for the rest of my swim. I nearly didn’t make it, even so.”

  Something in what he had said perked the woman up. “Show me the pose.”

  “The form?” Trak shrugged and assumed the form, pointing his fist at her. “Then I said STOP.” He felt the same force overcome him and the woman slammed into the wall and fell to the floor. Trak ran over to her and helped her up. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” He made to help her brush the dust off that had collected on her dress, but she slapped away his hands.

  “I do. You just practiced magic. I’m just glad that you didn’t kill me.”

  Trak’s eyes widened and he could feel his jaw drop. “Magic? I did?” He jumped back and rubbed his hands together in dismay. “I’m sorry.” How could he have done magic? He thought back at all of the forms he had made up in his life and wondered why nothing had happened before?

  She scowled at him. “You better be. You’re lucky you didn’t kill yourself. Now why did you come all the way from Greenbrook to me? Just on the word of Neel Cardswallow?”

  He pulled the letter out of his shirt and held it out to her. “I was bequeathed an education by my uncle and this was a letter of introduction. I was robbed before I even got to Herring’s Bone, so I have no money, no place to stay and Horsent Beanmouth won’t believe I am who I am without a letter of introduction. No one will believe I am who I say I am.”

  Honor sat back down on the trunk. “I certainly do, for what it’s worth. It’s not everyone who can do what you did in the water. Darned few have any power.” She stretched her back for a bit, and then folded her arms and thought for a moment before thrusting out her hand.

  Trak handed off his letter. He didn’t want to let her have it, but in its current state, it didn’t help him one bit.

  Honor put her hand to her chin and then laid the letter on the floor. She suddenly jumped up, assumed some crazy pose and said a word that Trak had never heard before. As she said it, he could feel a taste of the same kind of power he had felt when he knocked her over. Did magic feel like that?

  She bent over and presented a legible letter back to Trak. “A restoration pose worked well enough.”

  He read it over. He couldn’t read but the letters looked the same, so he carefully folded the letter and put it back in his shirt. “So I can do magic, eh? My mother could, you know.”

  Honor’s eyes lit up. “Could?”

  “She died.”

  “Her name?” Honor said.

  “Galinda Youngblood, she died before I could remember what she looked like,” Trak concentrated on not letting his voice break up as it often did when he talked about the mother he could hardly remember.

  Honor nodded her head. “I knew her when she married your father. She did know magic and used it a bit too indiscriminately. It didn’t matter in the end.”

  Trak didn’t know what the word meant. “I would guess. Magic’s illegal!”

  “And that makes you a criminal, doesn’t it?” she said.

  Trak didn’t know what to say. He felt embarrassed and wrung his hands in a bit of panic. “I’ll be on my way, if you don’t mind. I need to find the lawyer’s office so I can get a bit more in the way of cash. I’m still very tired from my swim.” Trak had perhaps made the mistake of showing magic to another witness. Was he too willing to talk to Honor Fidelia? He’d have to learn to keep his mouth shut.

  “And hungry, too, I would guess,” she said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

  The last thing Trak wanted to do was to eat with the witch. Sometimes she looked nice and other times she looked nearly evil, or maybe just dour. He didn’t know what to think. Could he really be a male witch? A magician. He didn’t have an answer, but looked outside and back at the woman.

  She walked to a counter and pulled a box from the back and placed it on the counter. “Here’s enough for a room and a few meals,” Honor said as she plucked six silver shillings from the box and stacked them on the counter.

  “More than enough, by my reckoning,” Trak said.

  She lifted one side of her mouth into a sneery smile. “Not in Pestledown. Take it and pay me back when you wish. I have much to teach you, if you can get over the activity being illegal.”

  Trak straightened up at her attack on his honor. Honor, he thought and suppressed a smile. “I’ll do that. Thank you for the letter.” He picked up five of the shillings. “One for your services.”

  Honor leaned over and pressed the sixth shilling back into his hand. “My services are much more dear than
that. Consider it a gift and a promise of things to come.”

  Trak withdrew his hand from hers and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll repay you as soon as I am able and I’m sorry for knocking you about.”

  She shrugged. “Such things come with the training. You’ve got potential, Galinda’s son.”

  “Trak. Trak Bluntwithe is my name.”

  She looked at him oddly and pushed him towards her door. “Go Trak Bluntwithe and the door is always open for your return.”

  “Thank you.”

  Honor scoffed at his words. “For showing that you are a criminal? Thank me later when you understand how wonderful your gift is. Beanmouth’s office is on this road about a mile towards the city center in a light stone building with dark blue wooden shutters. You won’t miss it.” She closed the door behind him without another word.

  ~

  People walked with purpose in this city and much faster than those who strolled and chatted with friends as the residents of Greenbrook moved from place to place. He just might find city life to his liking. Trak smiled in pleasant contemplation while he tried to stay in the sun to dry off his clothes. He has spent a little of his money on some street food and now knew that his six silver coins wouldn’t last long in Pestledown.

  Eventually Trak arrived at his destination. He looked up at the sign on the light brick building with dark blue shutters. He gazed at the plaque by the door and puzzled out the letters. They were the same as the ones at the bottom of the letter, he thought, as he walked into a gloomy room. There were plenty of windows, but they were opaque with grime. Three men sat behind tall desks scribbling on paper. In the back, a corpulent man sat at a large desk doing much the same. That must be Beanmouth, sweating away, making his bald head glisten in the light. Trak walked to the back.

  “Horsent Beanmouth?” Trak said as he took the letter from inside his shirt. At least the walk had dried him off so he merely felt damp. “I’m Trak Bluntwithe and I need a bit more money.”

  “Trak who?”

  He handed over the letter to Mister Beanmouth. “Oh, the Youngblood nephew. You were supposed to give this to Podor Feely.”

  Trak could feel his face burn with embarrassment. “I fear my money was stolen from me before I even made it to Herring’s Bone.”

  Beanmouth’s face looked uncomprehendingly at Trak.

  “I have no money to live on,” Trak said. “I am supposing that you can help me out, here, sir.”

  The lawyer blinked as if awakened. “Oh, certainly, I don’t know where Herring’s Bone is, but it looks like you made it here on time.” He scribbled on a piece of paper and shoveled it into Trak’s hands from across his desk. “Take it to Snively.” He jerked his head towards the closest clerk and then put his head back down and picked up a pencil and resumed his scribbling.

  “Thank you,” Trak said, but his appreciation obviously didn’t register on the lawyer. He took the few steps to Snivley’s desk. “Here.” He handed the note to the clerk.

  Snively sniffed and looked down his long, thin dripping nose at Trak. “Money will be deducted from Youngblood’s trust for you, boy.” Trak thought that he would take an instant dislike to the man, but Snively winked at him as he pulled a key from a necklace kept underneath his shirt and opened a desk drawer. He pulled out a box and counted out five gold sovereigns.

  “You’ll have to make do with this until you present your letter to Feely. He’ll provide you with more at appropriate times.” The man winked at Trak. “Now be off.” Snively shooed him away, but Trak still stood by the clerk’s desk. The clerk narrowed his eyes, trying to look at him with disapproval. Trak could read people enough to know if they were really angry. Snively wasn’t. What kind of man was he? Trak hoped he’d never have to find out.

  “Do you know where I could stay tonight?”

  He glared at Trak and glanced back at Beanmouth, who seemed to have gone to sleep in the short time they talked. “The Looking Inn is a proper place to start. It is well enough known and respectable, but inexpensive for Pestledown.” Snively sniffed and went back to his scrivening.

  Trak didn’t mind leaving the office of the indifferent Beanmouth and the seemingly odious Snively. He forgot to ask directions to the Pestledown Preparatory Organization, but that didn’t matter. He’d do that tomorrow. Now that he had five gold sovereigns and five shillings, he could get something to eat and a good night’s rest. Perhaps tomorrow he’d find a market and buy a new set of clothes.

  ~~~

  Chapter Three

  The looking inn appeared solid enough. Trak would have to meet the innkeeper to see if it met his need. His father had taught him that a good innkeeper made a good inn, even though Able never did quite practice what he preached. Trak made sure the inn looked presentable and he hoped his own efforts helped his father’s reputation. Being the only inn for miles, Trak didn’t know if it was the location or the work that he did that made The Blunted Sword popular.

  From the outside, he noticed that the weeds were cut down. He walked through to the courtyard, no animal droppings in sight and everything was organized. The tools were in good repair, but not shiny new. He went inside. The place smelled of soap and cleaning fluids but the decorations were modest. No lord or lady would stay at such a place, but Trak would bet all of the money that he possessed that the rooms were clean and well-kept. The food would probably be on the plain side, but there would a great deal of it, cooked well. He would put the inn to the test.

  Thoughts of a meal made Trak’s mouth water. He stepped up to the registration desk and rang the bell. A woman stepped behind the desk.

  “And what might you be needing, a job? Sorry, we have enough stable boys and such.”

  “A room and an evening and morning meal, please, something modest. I have arrived nearly penniless in Pestledown, but I’d gladly pay you in advance,” Trak said.

  She was tall but not taller than Honor Fidelia. He liked the way she looked him straight in the eye. She had as many years as his father, but an energy surrounded her. The woman got things done, of that Trak was certain.

  “Four shillings.” She put out her hand, but the look on her face told him that she doubted he’d have the cash.

  “Is that the going rate? It seems a little high to me. I come from Greenbrook and the inn there would charge a shilling alone.”

  “You know Able Bluntwithe of The Blunted Sword?”

  “My father, he is,” Trak said, very surprised that the woman would know her father.

  “Jeena, your aunt, and I were best friends. Your uncle died only a few weeks ago. Willbest was not my favorite man, but Galinda had a golden heart.”

  “You knew my mother? I barely remember her.” Trak just about put four shillings in the woman’s hand but stopped to negotiate. “I only need to stay the night. Uncle Willbest left me an education. I’ll pay you two shillings.”

  The woman shook her head. “No, you won’t.”

  Trak’s will began to waver.

  “You’ll stay for free. It’s the least I can do. Your uncle lived without a wife or children. You’re the last of the Youngbloods”

  Trak furrowed his brow. “If I am the heir, then why do I only get an education?”

  “Good question, but one best not answered today or tomorrow.” She wrinkled her nose and grinned at him. “Where have you been? You smell like something a fisherman dragged in.”

  Trak laughed with relief. A friendly face at last. “The ship that brought me meant to impress me as a sailor, but I jumped into the water when Pestledown was still in sight and swam to shore.”

  “Lucky a sea beast didn’t swallow you up. I imagine you left all of your possessions on board?”

  Trak nodded. “I did.” Not that he had much in the way of possessions.

  The innkeeper looked Trak up and down and then grabbed a key from the board behind the desk and took him by the hand. “I’ll lend you some clothes and wash the rags you’re wearing. You need a bath!”

  ~ />
  Esmera Walkalot’s clientele consisted of merchants and wealthy farmers who didn’t brook much in the way of pretense. She had a few long-term guests that she said she’d introduce Trak to, if he found the inn to his liking. She didn’t press, but she didn’t try to discourage him either.

  Trak sat in the common room eating a late evening meal forced upon him by Esmera. He wore discarded clothes left by former guests, but they were clean and pressed by Esmera’s maids. Now that Trak had a full stomach, he needed a good night’s sleep. He could return the witch’s shillings after he had met with Podor Feely.

  He finished eating and sat listening to the general hubbub as the common room filled up for the evening and took in the smells of food, ale and tobacco smoke. Her maids would likely be scrubbing tables, floors and chairs in the morning, but right now, the various aromas reminded him of The Blunted Sword. If he could write, he would send a letter to his father. Trak found himself nodding and decided it was time to go to his small, but free, room.

  Esmera had promised to spend breakfast with him, if he rose early. She promised that she would tell him about his mother, aunt and a bit about his uncle. With that thought, he quickly fell asleep and dreamed of his mother and father walking the streets of Pestledown, hand in hand.

  ~

  Breakfast proved to be disappointing. Esmera had an emergency, securing provisions for a large group lunch at the inn, and had a serving maid give Trak her regrets. That didn’t set his mood very high when he stepped out into a drizzly day. He’d be wet again, two days in a row.

  With a much shorter time at breakfast than he intended, his first journey was to Fidelia’s Dancing Studio, but the witch wasn’t in or wasn’t up. It made no difference. He’d try again. After wandering around for an hour and a half, he found a clothing market but once he saw all of the different styles of clothing available, he’d see Podor first to see if there were any dress requirements for tutored students.

  He arrived at Pestledown Preparatory Organization offices just before midday and stood in front of the impressive building. Trak took a deep breath and trudged up the steps. From here on out, his life would commence to change.