The Demon and the Fox Read online

  Once inside, he shut the window and the raven’s pane. He stared down at the ground, where in the distance he could see dimly the shapes of the snow-covered trees of the orchard. From here he had even less chance of seeing Forrest, but perhaps if Master Jaeger’s eyes were good, he would be able to. Kip turned to face the old sorcerer.

  The white puffs of his breath faded as the heat in the room reasserted itself. He stood on the edge of a finely woven Persian carpet with intricate patterns that in the light of the window appeared bright gold and brown, his snow-dusted feet resting on stone in the only space around the carpet that was not occupied by bookshelves. Only a few of the shelves contained books; the rest held sheafs of paper, some bound with dusty ribbons. A brazier containing a phosphorus elemental stood in the very center of the carpet, and adjacent to it stood a perch from which Blacktalon regarded Kip.

  “Hello, Mister Penfold.” The figure at the far end of the room walked toward him in a queer halting motion, stopping to hold out a piece of meat to the raven, which it gobbled down quickly. “It is pleasant to meet in person.”

  “Yes,” Kip extended a paw, then withdrew it when Jaeger did not extend his hand.

  “I apologize for the frequent use of Blacktalon as an intermediary. He is an excellent companion but somewhat, a ha, limited in his emotive range.” As Jaeger stepped into the light from the window, his mottled skin and wispy white hair came into better focus. Sharp brown eyes took Kip’s measure but a slight smile undercut their severity. The white robe he wore looked to be the same as Forrest’s but in much better condition. “I find it tiring to leave my chambers, and most apprentices do not climb as high as the sixth floor of the Tower.”

  Kip stepped forward and to the side so that his tail wasn’t brushing the wall. “I liked coming to meet you on the roof,” he said. “It was a secret. And I never properly thanked you for your help when Farley and Adamson took Coppy, a month or so ago. Patris said you vouched for me.”

  “I told the truth,” Jaeger said, raising one eyebrow. He hobbled back toward Blacktalon with that same jerky gait. “You acted honorably. Had you not, I would have reported that as well.”

  “But you judged me by what I did, not by how I look.”

  “My boy.” Jaeger turned, one hand steadying himself on the raven’s perch. “I see only the minds inside your heads, not the outer covering they walk about in. To me, you look the same as any other student.”

  “Thank you anyway.” Kip flushed at the words, putting his ears back. To be the same as any other student felt inconceivable to him.

  “You’re welcome. Now, you had concerns about Forrest?”

  “Yes. Is there anything we can do for him?”

  Jaeger stroked a finger over Blacktalon’s head, which the raven accepted with closed eyes. “Blankets, although I doubt he needs them. He can get food when he needs it. Forrest has been studying magic related to trees, and in some ways he can communicate with them. An odd branch, a ha, of spiritual magic, but a known one.”

  “I know,” Kip said, thinking of Forrest’s memory.

  Jaeger looked sharply at him, and he realized his mistake. “That he can communicate with trees. I mean—he attacked me when I lit a fire. He said, he said the trees were afraid.”

  “Oh, yes.” Jaeger gave a short laugh. “What would you expect when you light a fire in an orchard?”

  “I was trying to help.” Kip flattened his ears in annoyance.

  “Help is only valuable in the proper context.” Jaeger walked over to his shelves and began poring over them. “You would do well to remember that as you continue your magical education.”

  Kip glanced at the shelf nearest him, which held some books: “The Spirit,” “Healing the Mind,” “Understanding Thought.” He touched one with a finger and came away with dust on the pad. “Yes, sir.”

  Jaeger looked over his shoulder. “Don’t say ‘yes, sir,’ unless you’ve absorbed the lesson.”

  The words gave Kip a bit of a shock. Further annoyance at being lectured to faded into the feeling of someone caring about whether he learned something. “Help is dependent on context, yes, sir. I’ll do better in the future.”

  “I am certain you will. Now, am I correct in hearing that you have been communicating with a spirit in the Tower?”

  Kip froze. He’d told Windsor, to ensure his and Coppy’s Selection, and the dour master must have told others. “Just—just once, sir,” he said, hesitating over the lie.

  “What did it say?”

  Windsor hadn’t asked him this. “It…it said, ‘Fox.’”

  “So it recognized you. Hm.” The old sorcerer pulled a sheaf of papers from his shelf and carefully untied the ribbon that bound them. “When was this?”

  “My first day here. When I applied.”

  “It hasn’t spoken to you since then?”

  “No, sir.”

  Jaeger pulled one sheet from the sheaf and rebound the pages. “Not that night in Master Splint’s room?”

  “Ah.” Kip’s throat felt dry. He avoided Jaeger’s eyes for a moment and then met them bravely. “I, uh.” What had he told Master Splint? He couldn’t remember. “I asked for help.”

  “You prayed.”

  “Yes. And then I could reach magic again.”

  “Well.” Jaeger released the paper he was holding and it stayed in the air. “And your first day, you also experienced a rush of magical power, is that right?” Kip nodded. “At the same time as the voice talked to you?”

  “Yes.” The two incidents would definitely be linked, but at least Kip’s conversation with Peter could remain confidential.

  The page floated toward Kip. “Take that,” Jaeger said. “It is a spell I modified slightly to make it easier to learn, but King’s College was not interested in my modifications.”

  “I’m sorry.” Kip grasped the page.

  “It was a long time ago. I’ve learned to let go of the small slights and politics that may mar a life.” He pointed at the paper. “It has been helpful to a handful of sorcerers in the past, and so may it be useful to you now.”

  Kip read from the page: “A Spell To Liberate One From Spiritual Holds.” He looked up. “Why would they not want this?”

  “Ah.” Jaeger tottered back to Blacktalon. “They did not favor me with a reason. Perhaps they worried that their own spiritual sorcerers would be less effective if this spell were widely known. Perhaps they did not feel that spiritual holds were common enough to warrant spending more time on this.”

  “What is a ‘spiritual hold’?”

  “It is a magic that confuses the mind, not in the usual way you think of confusion, but in such a way as to alter your view of the world and make it appear natural. It is only effective for a short time and in the presence of the sorcerer casting it, but it has sometimes made appearances in diplomatic meetings, heh heh. The best way to tell that you are in a spiritual hold is that your nearby friends will all appear to be acting irrationally.”

  Kip frowned. “It affects your friends?”

  “No. That is the point. You can never tell from your own thoughts that you are in a hold, but the sorcerer has cast it on you to make you behave in a way you wouldn’t. Anyone nearby who knows you will try to stop you, and their reasons will make no sense. That piece of knowledge, by the way, is just as valuable as the spell.”

  “Then why do I need the spell?”

  “Oh, you can’t break a hold simply by knowing or suspecting it exists. But it takes very little energy to cast this spell, and if everyone around you is behaving oddly, or if you have some other reason to suspect one has been cast on you, then you might as well just cast the counter spell to be sure, eh?” Jaeger’s eyes twinkled. “Simply drill that belief into your head and memorize the spell, and you will be well served.”

  Kip looked again at the page. There was a paragraph explaining the concepts to keep in one’s head while casting the spell, and then the spell itself, carefully laid out in syllables. “Why do you
think I will need this?”

  “Simple,” Jaeger said. “Affecting another sorcerer’s access to magic is a spiritual skill. If there is a spirit trapped in these walls, demon or otherwise, it is well versed in spiritual magic. And it has communicated with you. There is a chance that it will decide it wishes to use you for its own ends, and a spiritual hold is the best way to do that.”

  Would Peter use him? No. Peter was another fox; he and Kip shared a bond. And yet…Peter had been a spiritual sorcerer. “Master Jaeger? Do you think it’s possible that a…a human spirit could be trapped in the Tower?”

  Jaeger chuckled. “A ghost?” He waved his arms and made his robes flap. “Penfold, when the body expires, the spirit passes on to wherever our spirits go, whatever your belief may be on that score. Spiritual sorcerers have tried for centuries to trap that spirit as it leaves, and none has succeeded.”

  Except maybe one had, Kip thought. A Calatian, whose accomplishment might constitute a Great Feat except that it had been erased by time and perhaps the hands of the humans who’d used him. He held up the paper. “May I practice this with you, once I’ve learned it?”

  “You may come to the roof.” Jaeger turned his back and shuffle-hopped toward the far end of the room. “Blacktalon will meet you and escort you here.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Kip looked past him to the door. “Er, may I leave through the Tower?”

  Jaeger turned, his eyes sharp. “Why?”

  “I, ah.” Kip shook his head. “No reason. I am tired of the outdoors.”

  “I would prefer you leave by the window,” Jaeger said. “Good day. I look forward to your next visit.”

  And with that he closed the inner door behind him, leaving Kip alone in his study. The fox rolled up the paper and held it in one paw as he opened the window with the other. “Fine,” he muttered, and was tempted to leave the window open, but did not.

  6

  History in the Making

  Kip told his friends about his failure to explore the sixth floor hallway and about his meeting with Master Jaeger, and he shared the spell the old sorcerer had written. “Seems simple enough,” Emily said after having read through it. “But who can cast a spiritual hold for us to test this?”

  “I’ve asked if I can practice with him. Maybe the rest of us can do it as well.”

  “Would be useful magic to use on Farley,” Malcolm mused. “Make him see himself as the rest of us see him, then maybe he’d feck off and leave us in peace.”

  “Don’t know that it would be nice for any of us to see ourselves as others see us,” Coppy said. When they turned to look at him, he gestured at Kip. “What if you could see yourself as Patris sees you? Or you,” to Emily, “as some of those older sorcerers see you?”

  “Yes,” Malcolm said, “but we’re right and they’re not.”

  Coppy laughed, but only shortly. “It seems terrible to me, making someone believe something different or see the world differently.”

  “Help is dependent on context,” Kip said. “If you’re changing the way they see the world to get them to help more people, isn’t that right?”

  “Maybe.” Coppy shook his head. “But that should be their decision, not one you make for them.”

  “You can die several lifetimes waiting for them to come to that decision,” Emily said.

  Later that week, as Kip was poring over the instructions of Jaeger’s spell and sounding out the pronunciation, Emily came to him. “Kip,” she said with excited urgency, waving a sheet of paper at him, “Master Hobstone’s written me again. He says he and Mr. Adams would like to meet with you at the Founders’ Rest Inn on Friday next!”

  Kip had sat down cross-legged on his bedroll with the spell in front of him, while Neddy snoozed on the stone nearby. Next to him, Coppy practiced levitating a group of five small marbles; Malcolm was either studying with Master Vendis or off on his own somewhere. The fox finished reading through Jaeger’s words one more time and then lifted his head. “Thank him for me. I really don’t wish to.”

  “Kip.” She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t think you understand what this movement stands for. They simply want to explain their goals.”

  “I’m not interested in their goals.” Kip folded his arms. “Mr. Adams simply asking about me last time made Patris furious.”

  “He knows. That’s why he asked to meet at the Inn. Patris need never know.” She waved the letter again. “They want you to be part of the movement. This is bigger than learning fire spells.”

  “It’s my future!”

  Coppy’s marbles fell to the bedroll. The otter looked up, but Emily’s focus remained on Kip. “This,” she thrust the paper at him, “could be the future of our country!”

  “That’s all very well for those who have the freedom to be concerned about it.” He didn’t like the edge his voice got, so he breathed in and pushed fingers through his tail fur to calm himself.

  Coppy reached over to touch his arm. “Back in London,” he said, “often we had to worry foremost about our survival, but we also knew we had to think about our Isle. For who else would?”

  “New Cambridge is doing fine,” Kip said. “Better if I remain a student here.”

  “But what about the Calatians in the Bronx, or in Boston? Even the ones back in the Isle?”

  Kip frowned. “You never talked about revolution before.”

  “Aye.” Coppy drew in a breath. “Nor much in London, to be honest. I thought those who talked about founding our own country, leaving the Empire behind to create a society for us Calatians, were foolish. World’s not going to change, I said. But…” He gestured toward Emily’s letter. “I’ve been sorting it out in my head the last few days. I think here’s a chance for real change.”

  When Kip lay his ears back, thinking, Emily leaned in again. “You think I’m not worried about my own future? You think this whole enterprise comes without risk? Everyone who dares to dream of a better future faces the prospect of being expelled or exiled or executed. We risked very little to come here and force ourselves upon the sorcerers, and look at what we gained. Now we—Calatians and women alike—have the prospect to gain so much more.”

  Kip nodded. “And to lose so much more.”

  She dropped the letter and sat next to Coppy as the otter slid over to make room. “You can’t spend your whole life walking inside the boundaries. If I’d done that, I’d still be married to Thomas and probably attending some dreadful tea for the wives of all the other lawyers instead of here learning sorcery.”

  Kip pushed aside the spell paper. “Then go ahead and do it. Why do you need me to be part of it as well?”

  “I want you to be part of it. We broke the barriers of the college together, we should be part of this together, we three and Malcolm.”

  He couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from curving upward. “But I have so much else to do. This kind of…crusade, it’s not what I’m about. You’re the one who takes on authority.”

  Emily rested her head in her hands and gave him a beseeching look. “They need everyone they can get, Kip. You could make such a difference. Your help might tip a balance. What one sorcerer can do…”

  “Coppy seems willing to go.”

  The otter smiled and shook his head. “They don’t want someone who can lift a few marbles. They want fire and demons.”

  “You know that to summon a demon, I need the blood of a calyx.”

  Coppy looked away and Emily bowed her head. “I know it’s difficult.”

  “‘Difficult’?”

  “But there are Calatians joining the fight as well. Kip, in an independent state, think of the possibilities for Calatians and women.”

  A new world? A new order, with new places for his people? Maybe. He didn’t want to ruin the glow in her eyes with his skepticism, so he remained silent. Emily persisted. “We can help write the rules. We can make sure that women and Calatians can own property, can vote, maybe even one day serve in government. Why shouldn’t we? We
live here too.”

  “I’d like to believe it’s that easy,” he said, unable to help himself. “I’ve seen what humans think when we live next to them. They resent even the things they themselves gave us.”

  She sighed. “Kip, please just go talk to them. It doesn’t oblige you to anything.”

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the danger. If Patris found out about it, he could lose everything he’d fought so hard for here. Then he’d have nothing except the independence sorcerers, and who knew what they could teach him?

  Coppy cleared his throat. “It’s worth just talking to them,” he said. “How else will you know what they’re about? Didn’t you once tell me you’d rather know as much as possible before making a choice?”

  Kip looked from one to the other. “All right, all right,” he said. “If you’re both so set on it.”

  “Thank you!” Emily got to her feet. “I’ll write back and accept.”

  Coppy just smiled, and in that smile told Kip that he knew whose words had made the most difference.

  Emily accompanied him down to the Founders’ Rest Inn that Sunday afternoon, on a day when clouds preserved what little warmth the sun provided and then spitefully added a cold drizzle. They’d decided to keep the party as small as possible, so Coppy had stayed behind, and Kip thought often of the otter in the warm, dry basement as he and Emily made their way through the cold damp down the quiet hill. The drizzle and mist were thick enough to conceal the Inn and the church spire behind it until they’d walked more than halfway down the path.

  Kip hadn’t attended church in weeks, not since his family had left. He really should come back down, if only to see the Cartwrights and his betrothed, Alice. But if he approached them, they might tell him that they wanted to break off the engagement. There were no other female foxes of the appropriate age here, so Kip would then have to look to Boston, New York, or perhaps London to start a family. That would be difficult, and besides, he liked Alice and wanted to get to know her better. As long as he hadn’t heard anything from her father, everything was still fine and he had no wish to disturb that fragile peace.