Magician In Training (Power of Poses Book 1)

by Guy Antibes

  The ground floor consisted of a lawyer’s office, but he found that Feely conducted his business on the third floor after puzzling for a while at a board in the hallway. Walking up the stairs was akin to approaching his doom. Finally he saw a door with a placard on the side that he thought announced his destination.

  This floor was significantly less fashionable than the first level and ‘dingy’ was the word that flittered about in Trak’s mind. The floors were swept and he didn’t notice any cobwebs in the corners, but the paint had faded to a dull, unappetizing green-black color. The windows, at least, were cleaner than Beanmouth’s law office.

  He stepped in. An old man wrote at the desk covered with papers. Trak would never be able to make sense of so much writing. The old man’s hands looked arthritic, but he scribbled away quickly enough, his wispy white hair bobbing as he wrote. Boxes and files filled the bookcases, but curiously, Trak didn’t see anything that he thought might be textbooks.

  “Mr. Podor Feely?”

  “Wants His Majesty, do ye?” The man spoke like the farmers who had visited The Blunted Sword.

  “Is Mr. Podor royalty?” Trak said.

  “Naw, he just thinks he is. You want me to fetch him?”

  Trak pulled his letter from his shirt and checked to see if the writing had bled again. He sighed in relief that it hadn’t. “Perhaps this might help.” He gave the letter to the old man who put on a pair of spectacles and looked up and down the letter and then turned it around and read it.

  “You are the Master Bluntwithe mentioned?”

  “I am. I have no idea what to do.”

  “Generally, neither does His Chips.” The old man must have meant Feely. “We won’t worry about Podor. What kind of schooling have you had? Literature? Maths? Geography? Anything?” He sat with a blank paper and pencil in hand, ready to write down Trak’s accomplishments.

  A flush of red colored his face. “I barely know my alphabet and my sums,” he said.

  “Ooo, a blank slate. We don’t get many of those. You’ll need two tutors to start, Language and Basic Learning. Basic Learning is what generally gets taught to six-year-olds, but you’ll need to be brought up much more quickly.” The old man swiveled his chair around and consulted a file of stiff paper cards. “Here we go. Three months with Leaf Gougepenny in Basic Learning and,” the man took off his spectacles and read a card bringing it a few inches from his face. “What’s this?” the man scratched his head with confusion. “His Magnificence wants you taught by Tim Saddlebug even though he already has a student, but she just started. This here note written by Podor Himself says that you are to join them. Can’t say I’ve seen my majestic boss ever do that before.”

  “There aren’t big classes?” Trak said.

  “No, no, we prepare using tutors, one-on-one preferably, but two or three at most. Tim is a, a middling teacher, but looking as how you can’t really read, you’ll learn a lot anyway. At least he is excellent friends with His Nibs. He’ll have you learning soon enough… unless you are a dunce.” The old man looked Trak over. “You don’t look like a dunce to me.”

  Trak still stood in front of the desk. He straightened up to attention and took a deep breath. “I have a few questions.”

  “Slather them on me, lad,” the old man said as he finished his writing and sat back with his thin gangly arms folded in front of him.

  “I am in need of a place to stay.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “The Looking Inn.”

  The old man nodded his head and looked to the side as if someone might be listening. “Plead with Esmera to put you in a room somewhere. It’s a better place than any His Magnificence would shove you in. She will bill Beanmouth directly. Give her this card and your room and board will be taken care of. Podor will grumble, but stick to your sword, boy, and refuse to move.”

  “Ah, what about clothing? Do I need scholar’s robes or a uniform of some kind?”

  “Clothes that cover you are suitable, but they should be clean and presentable. Robes and funny hats are claptrap requirements at the University. Ye’ll be taught in people’s homes and in their private classrooms, understand? What yer got on is good enough for Miss Gougepenny and Timmy boy. Watch out for Timmy, though. He’s a moody bugger and none too honorable. You’ll understand in a few sessions.”

  Trak nodded. He wouldn’t really know what he faced until he began.

  “Report here tomorrow for a packet of spending money and the addresses and times for yer tutoring. We only have a few years to prepare you for University life.”

  Trak stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Mister?”

  “Coffun Cricket is my name. If ye need anything, you’ll get farther with me than with Podor Feely, I’ll tell ye, but he’ll want a word soon enough. Let me know how you get on at Esmera’s place, eh?”

  Trak nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  “Not too early, understand?”

  Trak thought he did. He left in a state of mild bewilderment and made his way back to The Looking Inn and found Esmera inspecting the cooking going on that would be served in the evening. Trak didn’t like dealing with so few facts. Life at the inn held no surprises other than learning about human nature, but always at second or third hand. Now that he was a full participant, his control of things seemed to have turned to mist in his hands.

  He needed a little stability in his life. “Is there any chance I can stay here long term?”

  Esmera smiled. “Glad you asked. There is a small flat above the stables, if you can stand the smell of horses. It is pretty much self-contained with a little kitchen and a tiny bath and water closet. You can use it with my compliments. All I ask is that you lock up the stables every night or tell me that you won’t be here to do it.”

  He gave Esmera the card that Mister Cricket gave him. “Mr. Feely’s clerk said you could bill the lawyer, Horsent Beanmouth, directly.”

  She looked down at the card. “How is Coffun doing? I haven’t seen him in months. I never did like him hooking up with Feely. I don’t want to speak too ill of the man, but Podor is a piece of work. Don’t trust him.”

  “But my education…”

  “The tutors keep him in line rather than the other way around. You’ll have to yourself, but you can get a decent enough education with him, especially with Coffun running things.”

  Trak smiled. “I will. Do you want me to move my things over now?”

  She nodded and reached up to ruffle Trak’s hair. “As soon as you want. Rest easy, you’ve got room and board taken care of.”

  Not wanting to waste any time, Trak moved his few belongings to the two-room flat above the stable’s tack room. Trak inhaled deeply and only smelled the aroma of leather and feed. Whoever lived here had made it a slice of heaven to Trak. He liked having a bedroom and a sitting room that had a kitchen along one wall. Seasoned wood paneled the walls and the ceiling. It wouldn’t take much cleaning to make it into a place presentable to live in on his terms.

  He only had a change of clothes but folded them with precision and put them in a generously sized chest of drawers in the small bedroom. The room needed just a little rearranging to Trak’s eye. He sat down on the overstuffed easy chair by the dormant fireplace and just absorbed it all.

  Someone knocked on the door that led to the outside stairway that led down to a short covered walkway that connected the stable to the inn’s large porch that faced the stable yard.

  “Time to show you how to lock up the place,” a stableboy said. He looked a few years younger than Trak, but had a friendly face.

  “Great. Let me put on my shoes and I’ll be right down.” He locked the door to his own place and thought again, his own living quarters and much better than the little shack that he had tacked onto his father’s inn. He couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face as the boy led him to the front gate. He had two ways to go down to the ground from his flat. A covered walkway extended from his door along the back fence and down a
stairway to the porch that ran along the inn’s side of the stable yard. He could also go down a steep staircase that hugged the stable wall.

  “This is the key. Please don’t lose it. I lost mine once and had to clean out the stalls all by myself for two weeks.”

  “I won’t. If you ever find yourself overcome with business and I’m in my flat, I wouldn’t mind helping with the horses. I worked my father’s stable before I came here and I enjoy it.”

  “You did?” The boy looked back and stopped. “We’d appreciate that. There are five of us working shifts. I’ll let them all know. Here we are. The key fits in this lock. You wrap the chain through these two holes.”

  “I see the iron bars.”

  “Right. Secure as it can be. Thieves can always jump the walls, but no one will ever steal a horse.”

  Trak smiled and knew that wasn’t the case. A thief with a little blacksmith knowledge could break the chain. It would be noisy, but if one had the horses right at the door, by the time anyone sounded an alarm, they’d be gone. His father knew that through painful experience. He had a similar locking system at The Blunt Sword. The only good thing was that there were few determined thieves.

  He graciously took the key and put it in his pocket. He’d find something, maybe in the tack shop, to attach the key to and hang it by his door. “I’ve got it. Thanks,” Trak said, watching the stableboy run towards a gruff voice yelling in the stable. The boy turned, waved, and then took off even faster.

  Trak’s stomach began to growl as he stepped into the inn after cleaning off his muddy shoes. He walked up to Esmera, standing at her desk, looking at some paperwork.

  “There is a little kitchen in the room. Is it all right if I bring food into the room? Some evenings, I’d like a bit more to eat.”

  “Do whatever you like. If you don’t show up for a meal, don’t worry about it. I’ll bet you’ll be studying so hard, there will be days you won’t want to come down for a meal.”

  Trak grinned at her. “That would be great. Is it all right if I help your stable boys from time to time? I’m certainly experienced and would like the exercise.”

  “If you like. I won’t have any objections. I might find some other kind of exercise for you, but we’ll wait on that for a bit.”

  Trak didn’t know quite what she meant. “So do I take my meals in the common room or the dining room?”

  Esmera laughed and put her hand on Trak’s shoulder. “Either way. The alcohol I serve at The Looking Inn isn’t the best on purpose. It’s good enough not to drive away my guests, but not enough to attract the wrong kind of clientele.”

  Trak could see that. Esmera was as good an innkeeper as he could imagine. He thanked her and sat in the dining room. The tables all had white tablecloths and the plates were ceramic. The common room used metal plates and mugs. Esmera didn’t take any chances.

  He had just about finished eating a slice of rhubarb pie for desert when Honor Fidelia sat at his table.

  “You had business with me this morning?”

  “I did,” Trak said before he had finished swallowing. How did she know? He mentally shrugged, and then stood to pull out his purse. “Six shillings.” He counted them out. “As it turned out, I didn’t need but one. I’ll be staying here, in rooms above the stable. I do thank you for extending me the loan, however. You didn’t have to do that.”

  She waved his thanks away. “Rooms, eh?” Her eyes swiveled from Trak’ head to his toes. She grunted. “You’ve quickly come up in the world, Trak Bluntwithe.” She swiped the shillings off the table and put them in a pocket in her dress. “I still want you to come to my studio tomorrow. I’d like to see just how much promise you might have as a…” she looked around and whispered conspiratorially, “…as a mage. It never hurts to know a few things and, for you, enough so you don’t hurt yourself or show your aptitude in the wrong situation.”

  Trak took another bite, his head spinning at the woman’s offer. “I suppose you charge for this instruction?”

  She looked indignant, but shook her hair, making the coppery streak in her hair wiggle like a snake. “I do need the money, it’s true, but I’m the best teacher you’re likely to find in Pestledown, and likely the only one, in any case.”

  Tomorrow held only two errands, pick up his schedule and buy a few more clothes. He thought back to his encounter with the shark and realized he didn’t want to rely on luck in a dangerous situation again. His mother had used magic, after all. “I think I’m free after midday,” he said.

  Honor grinned as if she had won a great victory. Trak didn’t think so, because he could stop instruction at any time. “Right after lunch. I’ll be waiting. One gold sovereign in advance, for one month’s training.”

  He reluctantly pulled out a gold and slid it across the table. That was worth twenty shillings. He’d have to endure a month of this witch’s training. He sighed and hoped it would be worth it. “I will be prompt.” Now he would have to do it.

  Honor swept to her feet and quickly left the dining room. Esmera took Honor’s place at the table.

  “Dancing lessons?” she said, looking towards the exit that Honor had used. “There are rumors about Honor Fidelia.” It looked to Trak, like Esmera was very familiar with Honor and her rumors.

  Trak cleared his throat. “If I’m to be a scholar I must learn a few refinements. She came recommended by one of my father’s close friends.”

  Esmera produced a half smile; it wrinkled up the side of her face. “Magic,” she whispered and put a finger to her nose. “I knew about Galinda’s ‘talent’. The two Youngblood girls both had learned a few tricks. Willbest couldn’t lift a scrap of paper. Your friend knows about Fidelia?”

  Trak slid his chair back, alarmed. “If it is illegal…”

  She put her hand on Trak’s. “It is illegal and dangerous. Not many know of her side business, which isn’t a business at all. All of her students seem to leave Pestle for good, and for good reason.” Esmera snorted and looked indignant. “I make sure I know what goes on in Pestledown. Your secret is safe with me, if there is any secret, at all.” She winked at him.

  ~~~

  Chapter Four

  TRAK LAY ON HIS BED, WAKING UP in the middle of the night. Did his rooms include washing the linens? That would be another question for Esmera. He didn’t like people knowing what Honor Fidelia did, but he had made the mistake of paying her one gold sovereign in advance, without haggling. She had surprised him in the restaurant. While he berated himself for weakness he heard a commotion in the stable yard.

  He parted the curtain to his window and saw four horseman controlling their horses in a downpour, wearing cloaks that hung over their horses’ rumps. To Trak that meant noblemen or soldiers. He didn’t take The Looking Inn as grand enough for nobles, so they must have been soldiers. Esmera walked down from the porch into the muddy yard and had animated words with one of the men. She gave him a leather tube, a bit larger than the one that Trak had carried his message in during his journey to Pestledown.

  They exchanged urgent words and then the men rode off into the rainy night. Trak noticed the stable master locking the gate back up. At least they didn’t call him down to be gatekeeper this late in the rain. He returned to his bed and wondered what that was all about. Esmera seemed to be a good, strong woman, but why would she be mixed up in that would necessitate such a late-night exchange of information?

  His head spun with fantasies of revolution or spies or smuggling, some illicit activity, to be sure. He wouldn’t say anything to Esmera about it, but he would keep his eyes and ears open.

  ~

  Coffun Cricket looked as if he hadn’t moved from the behind the desk in the Pestledown Preparatory Organization’s offices. Trak needed a shortcut to think about the business and decided to think of it as the ‘PPO’. He knew those initials well enough.

  “You just missed Mister Feely,” Cricket said.

  “Does it matter?” Trak said, thinking it pretty likely that Mr. C
ricket did all of the work.

  “Not really,” the old man gave Trak a knowing grin. “You be a smart one for being illiterate.”

  Trak started at the illiterate label, but then realized that the old man was right. “I’m here for my assignments.”

  “Oh, yes, that’ll be Leaf Gougepenny for Reading and Writing - Remedial. You’ll see her at 10 of the clock each morning. Tim Saddlebug will tutor you in general education commencing at three in the afternoon until dinnertime. You will share him with another student, like I told you yesterday. Do you know how to sign your name?”

  Trak nodded. That was the pinnacle of his mastery of letters.

  “Then sign here. You will be attending their classes for the next six months. I warn you, if you fail to pass Miss Gougepenny’s course, you may not be able to learn enough in time for University entrance.” He gave Trak two stiff cards. “One has Leaf’s address and the other has Tim’s.” The old man shook his finger at him. “You are not to use their first names unless they invite you to. Show them the cards on your first day, tomorrow.”

  Trak’s stomach flipped. The weight of learning suddenly seemed like so much of a burden. He couldn’t return to Greenbrook a failure and his mastery of forms would do him little good in learning how to read. “I’ll do my best, Mr. Cricket.”

  The old man smiled. “Friends call me Coffun.” He winked at Trak. “Call me Coffun.”

  Trak nodded. “Uh, my packet of spending money?”

  “Best not to forget that, eh?” He slid an envelope that clinked. “Three gold sovereigns and that’s more than most of our students get. Your room and board is on top of that. I’ve already received correspondence from Esmera and she is well within the acceptable range, although Lord Podor will show some disappointment you didn’t select one of the hovels that he often rents to students. Ye are all set, my boy. Good luck.” He rose from his chair and shook Trak’s hand. “I’ll let you know when His Highness is ready to receive you. He notified me that he won’t darken the door to this establishment until next week.”