The War and the Fox Read online

  The War and the Fox

  Book 3 of The Calatians

  Tim Susman

  Copyright © 2019 by Tim Susman

  Cover and interior artwork © 2019 by Laura Garabedian

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For Becky,

  though I know it won’t ever be enough

  Contents

  1. The Feast of Calatus

  2. The Master Colonel

  3. Peacefield

  4. The Battle of Boston Harbor

  5. Spain

  6. The Hand of Master Albright

  7. The Battle of Savannah

  8. Alice Learns Ships

  9. France

  10. The Battle of New Cambridge

  11. The Isle of Dogs

  12. The Rescue

  13. The Road

  14. The Master

  15. Holland

  16. The Fate of the Calatians

  17. An End to the War

  18. The Rescue of the Isle

  19. The Battle of the Isle

  20. The Bargain

  21. The Promise

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Artist

  Also by Tim Susman

  1

  The Feast of Calatus

  According to legend, the sorcerer Calatus performed his Great Feat of Sorcery in the month of April, some year back in the 1400s, and thereby created twenty races of animal-people. So in the first week of each of the four hundred Aprils since then, the Calatians feasted and sang and danced and gave thanks for the sorcerer who had given them life. In the town of New Cambridge, Massachusetts, April brought drizzles, showers, and just about every form of rain save a full-on summer thunderstorm, but that never deterred the Feast of Calatus.

  Though Kip was a fox as thick-furred as any of the New Cambridge residents, he had little trouble remaining dry even in the wettest of Aprils. He spent most of his time around fire, whether studying fire sorcery with Master Odden at Prince George’s College of Sorcery in the White Tower or practicing fire spells while sitting before the fireplace at the Founders Rest Inn.

  Until the previous winter, he’d lived in the White Tower’s basement, but following the death of his best friend at the hands of the traitorous Master Windsor—for which Kip nonetheless blamed himself—he had been unable to sleep properly anywhere in the Tower. Coppy’s gentle snoring followed no matter where he slept, he smelled the otter in places he couldn’t possibly have been, and everywhere he heard the distinctive steps of Master Windsor—also impossible, as Kip had reduced the traitor to a pile of ash moments too late.

  Kip and Emily had stopped Master Windsor from killing the last of the sorcerers in the American Colonies, after he’d destroyed Prince Philip’s in Georgia and much of Prince George’s earlier that year, but his colleague, Master Albright of King’s College in London, had escaped via a quick translocation spell. They had left behind papers that tied their activities to the British Crown, which had stoked the fire of the independence movement in the Colonies. John Adams, despite failing health, had sued for reparations to the Colonies of Massachusetts Bay and Georgia for the destruction of their colleges of sorcery, but the Crown continued to insist stubbornly that the rogue sorcerers had acted alone. As far as Kip and his friends could tell, Albright hadn’t even been taken into custody while the British government supposedly investigated his crimes (which included the murder of a British sorcerer). Tensions had escalated, and war was expected any day now.

  Kip had studied at King’s College with Master Cott, the world’s foremost fire sorcerer, but last May, Odden had told Kip that he was no longer to visit London. Headmaster Patris, who bore no affection for Kip and had once insisted on his trips to London as a way to ensure his loyalty, now insisted he remain in the Colonies for the same reason.

  So Kip had taken a room in the Founders Rest Inn, from where he could look up the hill and be comforted at the sight of the Tower still standing proudly atop it. His friend Malcolm O’Brien, a specialist in defensive magic, cast a protective ward over the Inn so that Kip couldn’t be found by Master Albright, and Kip learned to translocate himself between the Inn and the Tower. To pay for his room, he offered Old John the innkeeper a savings in firewood by binding a burning phosphorus elemental to the inn’s fireplace. Dubious at first, the old man soon grew quite attached to the cherry-red glowing lizard that capered about in the small space and engaged her in conversation. Within two months Old John had gone from reassuring his guests that she would do no harm to bringing them over to introduce them to her. When Kip dismissed her in preparation for summoning a new one, Old John bid her a solemn good-bye.

  The current phosphorus elemental went by the name Ernest. He had quite a low voice and, like most of his kind, a short attention span and a cheerful demeanor. On this April morning, Kip had come from his room to find a familiar group talking to Ernest in front of the fireplace.

  “Have you a favorite kind of paper?” Malcolm sat closest to the fire. A demon attack the previous year had taken his eyes and left an unsettling stretch of blank skin over the empty sockets, but he still turned his face toward whomever he was addressing. Kip and his friends were used to the young Irishman’s eyeless face by now, put more at ease by the grace with which he’d accepted his fate.

  “Only know one kind of paper,” Ernest replied. “Thin wood.” He opened and closed his mouth, which might have been called “smacking his lips” had he anything resembling lips.

  “There’s paper and then there’s parchment,” Emily Carswell, the first woman to become an apprentice sorcerer, sat next to Malcolm with her hand in his, as she often did. “And there’s vellum, which is made of sheepskin.”

  “Never had skin.” Ernest turned. “Hallo, Penfold.”

  Kip smiled. “Good morning, all.” He sat down beside Alice Cartwright, a fox who counted herself the second female and fourth Calatian to attempt to learn sorcery. “Everybody ready for the Feast?”

  “If they’ll have more of those flavored breads,” Malcolm said, “then aye. I’ve made a good deal of room in my stomach so I won’t needs stop at four this time.”

  Emily rolled her eyes and smiled at Kip. “Are you sure it’s all right for us to come with you?”

  “The town belongs to the humans too,” Kip said. “Some of the locals join us in the feast. It’s fine.”

  “All right. Do tell us if you need us to leave.”

  Alice nodded. “We will. It will be fine except when we go talk to Father. You shouldn’t be around then, I suppose.”

  “Good luck with that.” Malcolm smiled toward the two foxes.

  Kip reached out for Alice’s paw. “I’ve gone over my arguments again and again. If this doesn’t convince him…”

  “Josiah Tipper from Boston arrived last night.” Alice said the name as though it had gone rotten in her muzzle. “Father wanted me to come greet him, but I told him I had studying to do and I fled to the old barn.”

  Kip’s ears went up. “Even there,” he said, “I don’t want you doing sorcery if I’m not around.”

  “I know.” Alice sat up. “I took a lantern and I read through the books and memorized the binding spell again. I really think I know it.” She cast him a sly grin. “At least as well as you did when you summoned three fire elementals into a basement full of dry paper.”

  “She makes a good point,” Emily’s eyes sparkled at Kip.

  Kip, re
membering that Master Windsor had bound the other two elementals, had to force himself to smile in return. “I’m trying to teach you to avoid the mistakes I made, not repeat them.”

  “Hmph.” Alice smoothed down her petticoat. “Mistakes are how we learn.”

  “You’ll have to make your own. After the Feast, perhaps we can try a summoning.” Kip exhaled. “And perhaps we’ll have something else to celebrate.”

  “I dearly hope so.” Alice leaned against him and flicked her tail from side to side. “Josiah’s letters are as dry as tinder.”

  “Tinder?” Ernest perked up. “Have you any here?”

  Alice laughed. “No, but I’ll bring you some next time. You’ll love his letters. He scents them with jasmine.”

  “We’ll be back this evening,” Kip said, rising. “Behave yourself and don’t scare Old John’s customers.”

  “No idea what most of that means,” Ernest said, “but aye, sure as the Flower.”

  “Malcolm,” Kip asked as the Irishman rose, “can you ward us?”

  “Already doing it.” He cast the spell as Emily guided him around the tables and chairs of the Inn.

  The foursome stepped from Ernest’s warmth into a cool light rain and the grey light of morning. Despite the hour, New Cambridge bustled with activity, and today the usual crowds of tradesfolk and farmers getting their early morning bread were joined by throngs of Calatians—all the Calatians in the town as far as Kip could tell. There was Carrow Roseward the polecat; there were the Coopers, two dormice and a red squirrel with a new kit; that family of rabbits was the Lapellis.

  Johnny Lapelli caught sight of Kip and hurried over to him. “Happy Feast!” the young rabbit cried out, and looked around. “Is your father coming?”

  “No, he’s celebrating in Peachtree.” Kip embraced the rabbit and smiled. “He’s about to open a shop there sometime this year, so if you fancy warmer weather, I’m certain he could find a place for you.”

  “Ooh.” The rabbit’s ears perked. “I’ll ask mum. I’d love to see the world. Oh, Kip! Guess what! I’m giving one of the speeches!”

  “That’s marvelous. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent speaker. What are you going to talk about?”

  Johnny beamed at Kip’s compliment. “Oh, about how we Calatians are part of this country even though we were made across the sea.”

  “That’s a good one.” The other rabbits had almost disappeared from sight, heading for the large canvas tent erected over the green in the town square. “Go on, then, and I’ll listen for your speech.”

  “Thanks!” Johnny hopped up and hurried after his family.

  “They change up the speeches every year?” Emily asked.

  “Aye.” Kip exchanged looks with Alice. “That one is…interesting, though.”

  “How so?” Malcolm stepped up level with them, no longer holding Emily’s hand. Sometimes he summoned a demon to serve as his eyes, but Kip’s nose did not detect the sharp tingle that announced a demon’s presence to him. The Irishman was also adept at guiding himself by his hearing and his awareness of the people around him, and now his head turned shortly from side to side as he oriented himself to his surroundings.

  Alice spoke up. “Usually there’s a couple speeches about how we are all loyal to the Empire. There may well be some of those as well. But a speech about how we belong in this country…that sounds like rebellion.”

  “He could’ve meant,” Kip gestured to the hills beyond the town, “this country, not necessarily a country separate from the Empire.”

  “He can claim that,” Malcolm said. “But do you think that lies in his heart?”

  Kip shook his head. “No.”

  “Nor do I.” Malcolm turned as though he could see the crowd of Calatians. “Tis a sentiment people are no longer confining to whispers. Back in New York over Christmas, well, let’s just say me Ma forbad the subject from the house after the second fistfight.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were in a fight over Christmas.” Emily tightened her hand’s grip on Malcolm’s arm.

  “Sure, and why would you assume I was in one of the fights?”

  “Because I know you.” She arched an eyebrow to Kip.

  “Fair enough. As it happens, I wasn’t, though I did hold back me Uncle Seamus to save Da from having a second eye blackened.”

  “What news from the Adamses?” Kip asked Emily, to forestall her making a comment about Malcolm’s family.

  “Were you back there again?” Alice asked.

  “Yesterday, for a short time.” Emily brushed the hair out of her eyes. “John Adams had a message to take to the Parliament.”

  “What did it say?” Malcolm asked.

  “I’m not in the habit of reading the letters entrusted to me,” Emily retorted.

  “No, but Mr. John Adams has confided their intent to you in the past,” Malcolm said.

  She turned to Kip, her eyes clouding with worry so that fine lines creased her brow. “He didn’t this time. But it felt like a last resort sort of message.”

  “The last three have,” Kip said.

  Emily nodded, and then said, “Yes,” for Malcolm’s benefit. “John Quincy believes that the King will not allow a costly war that would leave them vulnerable to the Spanish, but John and Abigail both feel that King George will try to break the rebellion quickly, as he did forty years ago.”

  Most of this was for Alice’s benefit; she did not get to see Emily and Malcolm as often as Kip did, and he tried to insulate her from the politics of the day so they could focus on sorcery. But her sixteenth birthday had been months ago, and she displayed more maturity than that number implied.

  Now her ears went back as she took in this information. She’d nearly reached Kip’s height in the last year; it was easier to think of her as his betrothed (hopefully) rather than just a student.

  “We’re well prepared for war,” Kip assured her. “The Masters have been working with the military sorcerers. Most of them have pledged to support the Colonies in any conflict.”

  “What about the others?” Alice asked. “The ones who haven’t pledged their support.”

  “I don’t know. Master Odden only talks in generalities.”

  “I expect,” Emily said, “that they’re simply excluded from certain conversations for now. Should open war break out, they’ll likely go join the British forces.”

  “Likely a good number of soldiers will as well,” Malcolm said.

  “Perhaps not,” Kip said. “There is a good deal of excitement over the idea of a country of our own—”

  Alice broke in with a theatrical sigh and took Kip’s paw. “Let’s go find Father,” she said.

  That should not have been difficult even in the sea of people; the Cartwrights were one of only two fox families left in town and Kip’s nose could pick them out of a crowd half a mile away. But finding them and making their way through the crowd under the tent were two very different things. He spotted the russet fur and pointed black ears quickly, but as he pulled Alice in that direction, their way was blocked by Elizabeth Asher, holding a large basket of bread rolls from which a profusion of delicious scents arose.

  “Kip!” she said. “How delightful. And your friends from the College?”

  “Emily and Malcolm,” he said. “This is Elizabeth, who works with Mr. Scort, the baker.”

  “Ah, I smell cinnamon and raspberry,” Malcolm cried, “so you’ve no need to tell me.”

  Only then did Elizabeth really take note of his face. Her ears went back but she kept a brave tone. “Indeed, sir,” she said, slipping into a practiced recitation. “Cinnamon and raspberry, and plain sugared and blueberry as well. As you can…” Here she faltered. “They’re decorated with the different types of Calatians.”

  “The fox one is cinnamon, as I recall.” Malcolm reached for the small pouch at his waist.

  Kip tapped his arm. “I’ll buy the breads,” he said. “I’ve got a little money for some work I did for Old John.”

 
“I thought you just heated his inn in exchange for room and board?” Emily picked a blueberry bread with a squirrel decoration out of the basket, and a cinnamon fox for Malcolm.

  “He needed his old oven removed and the men couldn’t get to it right away, so I did it for him. It was a small thing.” Kip gave Elizabeth four shillings and took two more cinnamon breads from the basket.

  The warmth brought the smell of cinnamon flooding into his nose like a wave of magic, releasing memories of Feasts past: holding his mother’s paw, taking a bread from his father, listening to the speeches without understanding them, giving one himself when it was the foxes’ turn, receiving the blessing of Calatus and then dancing into the night.

  Elizabeth thanked him and moved on with one more glance at Malcolm, her nose twitching. Kip gave one of his cinnamon breads to Alice. “I wanted to try to talk to your father before the speeches,” he said, “but maybe it would be better to wait until after?”

  “If we can get over there now…” Alice craned her neck to look. “It would be better to get it over with.”

  Her ears flicked to the side as they did when she was unsure about a spell she was learning. Kip took a bite of his bread. “All right,” he said, and touched Emily’s shoulder. “You’ll be all right?”

  “Go on,” she said, “and good luck. Malcolm and I will go talk to Arthur Lean and his parents.”

  The Leans were black rats whose son Arthur had worked with both Emily and Malcolm. It wasn’t usual for sorcerers to socialize with calyxes, but Kip approved of this change. Bringing sorcerers and Calatians together could only benefit the Colonies in the coming war.