by John Moore
There was a clank as Caroline set her mug down on the table. There was a scraping noise against the stone floor as her chair slid back. When Rumpelstiltskin looked up she had drawn herself to her full height and was giving him a look that could have frozen the brine in a pickle barrel. “I think, sir,” she said icily, “you need to find yourself a nice Jewish girl.” And she walked out.
“It’s good to be King,” King Jerald of Melinower said once. He was younger then. He hadn’t thought anything like that in many years. Now he thought it would be good to be retired.
The Council of Lords had been hinting at it for some while. At first the King had resisted. But lately it was beginning to seem like a better and better idea. He would try to concentrate on the papers in front of him, but in his mind’s eye he could see the cool green woods that surrounded the family estates in Losshire, and the trickling streams, and the spacious hunting lodge. He hadn’t been there in years. There had been no chance to get away.
Money! That was the problem. No. Actually, it was the Council of Lords that was the problem. Smart men, most of them, but they had no idea what it cost to run a monarchy. A king had to live like a king, after all, to command the people’s respect. There had been those wagers, but his run of bad luck would have ended eventually. If they’d just let him raise taxes again . . .
He pushed the thought away. That wasn’t going to happen, and dwelling on it just gave him heartburn.
Retirement. It sounded so much better than abdication. Let Kenny take over while he was still around to give advice. Kenny and the King saw eye to eye on most things. Kenny would make a good king. But there was still the question of money.
He looked at the papers on his desk. They were the orders for the expulsion of the Jews and the confiscation of their assets. The orders were waiting for his signature and seal. Of course, not all the Jews were wealthy moneylenders. Most of them were not. And not all the bankers were Jews. So it was unfair, but that’s the way these things were done. It didn’t have to be violent, either. As long as the Jews didn’t resist, it was possible the whole thing could be done without injury.
And it had to be done. He couldn’t turn the crown over to Kenny with a mountain of debt loaded onto it. Jeff, yes. Jeff was good with accounts and budgets. The Council of Lords liked Jeff. The truth was, if he gave the kingdom to Jeff, there wouldn’t need to be an expulsion.
Except it wasn’t that easy. There were certain of the nobility that had to be accommodated. Those who were as heavily in debt as he was. They wanted this expulsion.
It was a question of national security, they told the King. There was too much money owed to too few people. What if the moneylenders were to suddenly call in their loans? A lot of businesses would go bankrupt. Trade would suffer. Melinower would be weakened.
King Jerald wasn’t sure he bought into this argument. The others had charts and numbers to support their positions, but the King hadn’t really followed them. Jeff could have explained it all, but the Lords didn’t want him to bring Jeff to the meeting—which told him, right there, that the arguments for the expulsion weren’t that strong.
He brought Kenny to the meeting. Kenny wanted the expulsion even before the Lords heard about it. King Jerald figured that if he gave the crown to Kenny, Kenny would go ahead with the expulsion on his own. That, at least, would free Jerald from making the decision.
But that would be unkingly. Jerald was not the sort who shirked from decisions. Certainly not when he was about to retire. He didn’t want to pass into history as a weak king.
He sat down at his desk, picked up the sheaf of orders in front of him, and shuffled through them quickly, although by now he had read them so many times he knew them by heart. He couldn’t avoid the decision. But he could put it off for a few days. The tournaments were about to start, and that was always a moneymaker for Melinower. Obviously you couldn’t have the expulsion disrupting the tournaments. Afterward?
He put the papers carefully back down on the desk.
Bungee pushed back the sleeves of his robe and stared nearsightedly at a brazier. He sprinkled a pinch of black powder over the coals, then nodded approvingly as a thin sheen of blue flame appeared and spread itself across the fuel. Over it he placed a small cauldron of black iron. When the liquid inside began to bubble and roil, he stirred in two measures of finely ground gray leaves and watched with satisfaction as the water turned a deep orange-red.
“You don’t mind making the tea, I hope,” he called to Emily, who was sitting in a straight-backed chair in the center of the room. “So many girls today object to making the tea. They say it’s unfair—I don’t know why. When I was serving my apprenticeship they always had us boys make the tea. As well as constantly sending us down to the shops for jam and muffins.”
“I don’t mind making the tea,” said Emily, accepting the cup he handed her. Inwardly she noted that this was the second time today she had been served tea, and there was the concept of too much of a good thing. How often did city people drink this stuff?
She looked around. Bungee, she knew, was a successful sorcerer, and his laboratory showed it. His books were kept in glass-fronted cases. Candleholders were on every wall and shelf, with drips of wax showing they were used often. Wax candles, too, not the cheaper tallow. Half a dozen very finely wrought brass balances, of differing sizes, were on the table. One side of the room held a pendulum clock of good quality, while the other held a clock that showed the phases of the moon—it surely had been custom-made. Next to the window was an expensive telescope, and an astrolabe, and a precisely calibrated compass, all for taking the positions of stars. Copper bowls and stoneware pestles were neatly stacked and arranged according to size. Pinned to the wall was a Periodic Table of the Elements, showing all four of them—earth, fire, wind, and water.
“Of course that’s only when we have clients,” continued Bungee. “When we’re at work just make what you want.” He was poking among the tall cupboards that lined his workshop and eventually produced a small pitcher of cream and a pot of honey, which he set on the table before her. When he sat down across from her she saw that his eyes, under thick white eyebrows, were very bright, and she suspected the nearsighted fussiness was a bit of an act.
“I know there are still a lot of magicians who won’t take a girl as an apprentice,” said Bungee. “Too much trouble.”
Emily was surprised. “We are?”
“Oh, girls don’t cause more trouble than boys. But you worry about them more.” He pointed to a portrait of two pretty girls on the wall. Emily had already noticed it. “I have two daughters myself. I just managed to get the youngest married off last year. I thought the dowry would drive me to penury, but I do find I sleep easier now that they’re someone else’s problem.”
“Congratulations.”
“Never managed to get them interested in the business, though. Too many books, they said.”
“Some people feel that way.”
“Not Amanda,” said Bungee. Without warning, he suddenly switched to Chaldean. (In the same way that Latin was the lingua franca of priests and scholars, Chaldean, the ancient tongue of Babylonia, was the language of sorcerers.) “A very smart woman, your mother. I admired her greatly. Inclined to be a bit short-tempered, I understand. But did excellent spellwork.”
“She taught me a lot,” said Emily. “And yes, her spellwork was very precise.” She spoke in fluent Chaldean. Bungee gave an approving nod.
“She was ahead of us in so many ways. Calling forth spirits from the darkness, for example. Sure, we can all communicate with the other side, one way or another, but only Amanda could do it for forty percent off the standard rates.”
“She saved even more on evenings and weekends.”
Then the old sorcerer shook his head. “Still, I must say I did not agree with her decision to get involved with a man like Torricelli. That was a bad business with the girl. Kidnapping, mmmph, bad for the reputation of the profession. I don’t blame our Prince
for having to whack him. You made the right choice, coming to me. You’ll get an apprenticeship in real sorcery. None of that newfangled alchemy nonsense.”
“They were trying to make brass into gold. My mother prepared a philosopher’s stone.”
“Hmmph. Our King sent for me not a month ago and quizzed me on philosopher’s stones. I told him he was wasting his time. Can’t rely on alchemy. Not like a good solid spell of real magic.”
“Well,” said Emily. “It sounds like you’ve decided to accept me.”
“Hmmm? Oh yes. I’m delighted to have you. You seem to be an entirely sensible young lady, and of course your references are impeccable. I’ll have my solicitor start drawing up the paperwork tomorrow, and when it’s ready, we can review it.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“And, ummm.” Bungee let his eyes fall on the book that Emily had left on the table. He had made a great effort not to pay attention to it during their conversation, and had succeeded reasonably well. Now that the matter was settled, he tapped the scroll on the cover. “Now, let us discuss the matter of your mother’s library. Which, of course, is your library now.”
“That’s correct,” said Emily. “And of course, it will be at your disposal for the term of my apprenticeship.”
“Splendid, splendid. How soon do you think you can have it delivered here?”
“I’ll start making arrangements as soon as the papers are signed.”
“Ah. You are being sensibly cautious. I approve of that. Now then. There are some matters that remain to be discussed.” Bungee poured them each another cup of tea. Emily took the opportunity to look over his shoulder at the mantelpiece. There were statues there, Golden Pentacle awards, given out each year by the Sorcerers’ Guild. She saw two large ones, for Best Spell and Best Potion, and a smaller statue for Best Curse in a Foreign Language. Emily was impressed.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Bungee was saying.
“Oh no,” said Emily quickly. Immediately she felt the color rising in her cheeks. “Not at all. No.”
Bungee, who hadn’t raised two daughters without learning a few things, smiled inwardly, fiddled with his teaspoon, and pretended not to notice her blushing. “That’s fine,” he said, stirring his tea. “Because if you did, you would have to explain to him that a sorcerer’s apprentice must maintain his or her chastity.”
“Oh that’s no problem,” said Emily. “We’ve already discussed it.”
“Good, good. So you’ve discussed it with this person who is not your boyfriend?”
“Uh . . . yes.”
“Fine, fine. I won’t pry any further. Now, we need to talk about your clothing allowance.”
Clothing allowance? Emily managed to refrain from speaking aloud. What clothing allowance? Instead she said, “My mother always insisted that a sorceress should dress like a sorceress.”
“Quite right, quite right.” Bungee rose from the table, crossed his arms behind his back. “There are some areas where it doesn’t pay to cut corners. Before a man buys passage on board a ship, for example, he wants assurance that the craft will convey him safely to his destination. If he sees a slovenly crew, and officers in unkempt uniforms, he worries that the ship itself might also not be well kept up, and fears for his own safety. Thus it’s important that the crew and the officers look smart.
“Similarly, a woman who is seeking a banker with whom to entrust her savings will want one who looks prosperous. For who will trust a banker who is losing money?”
“I understand,” said Emily.
“Good, good. You see, my dear, we weave complex and precise spells here, carefully laid, and when ingredients are called for, we use only the finest. Consequently, my fees must be proportionately high.”
“Of course,” said Emily.
“It therefore follows that our clients must be among the well-to-do. Although I occasionally do some pro bono work for a worthy cause, we will spend most of our time dealing with the nobility and moving in Melinower’s circle of elite.”
“I have no problem with that,” said Emily, who could not think of a more desirable job description.
“As part of your lessons, I will instruct you in the gentle art of self-promotion. For now, suffice it to say that you must wear clothing of fine quality, from dressmakers of good reputation. We will establish accounts with several shops who will provide your clothes. It is very important that, outside of these walls, you never appear in clothing that is patched, stained, or even slightly worn.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” said Emily, who was outwardly calm but inwardly ecstatic. This was going far better than she dared hope. An apprenticeship with a top-echelon sorcerer, that involved hobnobbing with Melinower’s nobility, and to top it off, he was virtually ordering her to buy new clothes at his expense. What more could a girl ask for?
Bungee went on. “It is quite likely that you will encounter some of our clients while at these shops, or at other social occasions. They may invite you to lunch or tea. When that happens, you must never accept an invitation for that same day, or the next. You must always protest that you are too busy, but can make time for them later in the week. It is important that you do so even during slack times, when we are not busy. In fact, those are the times that it is especially important.”
Emily considered his words. “Because we are maintaining the impression that we are in demand?”
“Quite so.”
“Even for the King?”
“Well, no. For the King or Queen we drop everything and give our immediate attention. Good point. I’m glad you brought that up.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It may also occur,” Bungee said, “that our clients will want to gossip with you, especially if they are young women close to your own age. As a sorceress in training, you should maintain a professional detachment. Listen attentively, try to empathize, but do not share information about our clients, or, especially, about yourself.”
“I understand,” said Emily. “My mother often spoke along the same lines. She said that to be most effective, a sorceress must carry an aura of mystery about her.”
“She was quite right,” said Bungee. He carried the teakettle back over to the brazier and began filling it with water from a porcelain jug. “To maintain the client’s respect it is necessary to be somewhat unpredictable, perhaps even harsh. It keeps the layman from taking us for granted.”
“My mother said the same thing after she used the frog spell.”
She was unprepared for the reaction to this simple remark. There was an explosive hiss of steam as Bungee spilled water on the hot coals, and a clang as he set the iron teakettle hard on the grill. He spun around to face Emily. “Amanda used the frog spell?”
“Well, yes. There was this boy . . .”
“Surely not . . . she didn’t . . . not our Prince Hal?”
“He was trying to steal the philosopher’s stone.”
“Dear me, dear me.” Bungee began pacing up and down rapidly. “My dear girl, this puts quite a different light on the whole situation, you understand.”
“Um, no.”
“Emily, my clients consider me a trusted professional. When they bring a sorcerer into their lives it is nearly always for delicate assignments requiring the highest degree of confidence. They do not want to deal with someone whose associate may transform one of them, or their children, into an amphibian.”
“But I didn’t put the spell on Hal! It wasn’t me!”
“Yes, yes, I understand. But rightly or wrongly, some people will attribute the sins of the parent to the child. For others, your very presence will remind them that it could happen to them and shake their confidence. The social stigma is impossible to avoid. Good Lord, what could Amanda possibly have been thinking?”
“But he’s not a frog now!”
“Yes, thank goodness. Was it you who kissed him?”
“No,” said Emily, with the tiniest sigh. “It was a girl from the village.”
/> “Hmm. A good-looking girl, of course. Magicality demands it.”
“Yes. Very. The most beautiful girl in the village, all the boys say.”
“That certainly helps. And now she becomes a princess. Very good. This turns the story from a cautionary tale into a romantic fairy tale. We may be able to salvage the situation yet, indeed, garner some good publicity from it. When is the wedding?”
“They haven’t set a date yet.”
“No?” Bungee glanced at the clock, the one with the moon phases, grabbed a quill and a sheet of foolscap, and scribbled some numbers. He pulled up an abacus, did some hasty calculations, then threw down the quill. “Without knowing the exact details of the spell, I can’t begin to work this out with any sort of precision. But I shouldn’t think there is room for delay.”
“The problem is that Caroline—that’s the girl—doesn’t want to marry Hal. She says he’s not handsome.”
“What! That’s absurd! Prince Hal is a fine young man. My daughters think he is quite good-looking.”
“They do?” Emily was surprised. “They said that?”
“As I recall, they said he was cute. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
“Um, no.”
Bungee put his hands on the back of a chair and leaned over it, looking at her intensely. “My dear girl, I regret very much having to tell you this, but I must withdraw my offer to take you on as my apprentice. I simply cannot let this sort of shadow fall over my business.”
“But it’s not my fault!”
“Yes, yes, I know, but I have no choice. If our Prince reverts to a frog, the damage to my business could be severe. I simply could not afford to be associated with you.” His shoulders sagged. “And Emily.” He hesitated. “Emily, no other magician of good reputation would do so either. That’s why the frog spell is so rarely used.”
“I understand,” said Emily glumly. She realized he was right, and her hopes of a good apprenticeship were sinking like a stone in water. But she kept her features composed, determined not to cry in front of this man. She slid her book off the table and put it back in her handbag. Bungee watched it go with reluctance.
