A Life Less Ordinary (28 page)

“I don’t believe you,” Master Revels said, coldly. I swung back to him, staring as his eyes bored into Calculator’s very soul. “I think you’re lying about something.”

“I swear to you, on my name, that we were running no experiments,” Calculator said. He sounded almost as if he were pleading, although I wasn’t sure what he was pleading for. To be believed, perhaps. “Do you think that we are mad enough to do...
that...
to our own people? Do you know how many people are caught in the blaze?”

“No,” Master Revels said. It sounded a convincing point to me. “How many have been killed by the fire?”

“At least ninety-seven researchers,” Calculator said. I shuddered. The population of the magical world had never been counted, but I’d had the impression that it wasn’t that high. “There was absolutely no warning. It just broke through our wards and set fire to everything.”

“Interesting,” Master Revels said. “Very well; I believe you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Calculator said. He sounded as if he had thought that his life had been in danger. I wondered if that were true. “What are you going to do now?”

Master Revels turned to look up at the flames. “I’ll call the Silent Order and get them to come and back us up, if necessary,” he said. He sounded reluctant to ask for help, but there was no choice. Trapping a demon, particularly one that had already manifested in the material world, wasn’t easy. Demons were smart, capable of seeing their way out of any trap and hell-bent on malice. “We’d better start setting up the wards now.”

I watched from a distance as Master Revels and a number of other magicians – I recognised Dervish among their number – pushed the crowd back and started setting up new wards. The fire demon howled its fury in a language that seemed to be composed of smouldering ash, ranting and roaring as it directed streams of fire towards anyone foolish enough to step too close. A river of flames surged out, spinning towards the magicians, only to be held back by their personal protections. The heat seemed overwhelming. I was sure that it would only be a matter of time before everything collapsed and the fire demon was free. Just how large was the building anyway?

I asked Calculator and he shrugged. “We never measured it,” he said. He didn’t seem to be as scared of me as he was of my master. “We just built it and secured it with magic, and then we started carving out rooms for our experiments and sharing information. All of the records have been destroyed in the fire and we will be a long time rebuilding everything. This may be the end of the Rationalists.”

It made a certain kind of sense. Knowledge was power in the magical world and so far too much magical knowledge was hoarded by the magicians, rather than shared for the benefit of all. The elder magicians hadn’t wanted to see the up and coming younger magicians reaping the benefits of their work and expanding on it, no sir! They would sooner force the young men and women to relearn all the secrets for themselves, perhaps sharing only a handful with their apprentices. It was confirmation, if I needed it, that magicians were human too.

The Rationalists, on the other hand, had concentrated on sharing information among themselves, claiming that by sharing knowledge they could also share the risks – research into magic, as I suspected that someone had just found out, didn’t promise a long and healthy life. Master Revels had once told me that people who tried to figure out the underlying roots of magic – how magic actually worked – often came to grisly ends. It hadn’t made them popular among their peers, if only because their peers feared that the young upstarts would learn something they could use to change the magical world.

I remembered Linux telling me about it, while we’d been playing Black Five Magic. He’d said that some of the younger Rationalists were convinced that the older Rationalists – never mind the rest of the magical world – were holding them back. It had struck me as absurd at the time, but now I wondered. Calculator had claimed that there had been no experiments underway when the fire had begun, yet that really only meant that he
knew
of no such experiments. Had someone been trying to summon and control a demon and it had gone horribly wrong?

Master Revels and his team of magicians had started chanting, using their voices to bind their magic together and strengthen the wards. The fire demon let out another howl of outrage as the building started to collapse completely – a wave of heat billowed out at us, causing the mermaids to teleport away before their water started to boil – and turned into a burning pile of debris. The fire demon raged forward, free of its bonds, only to strike into the wards and rebound sharply. I cringed as I felt heat pushing me back, knowing that none of us could expect any mercy if the demon broke free, just before there was a final flash of light and it was gone. The remainder of the fires vanished, leaving smouldering embers.

“Don’t go into the wards,” Master Revels called. I frowned in surprise before realising that the fire demon was bound to flames...and there were still burning items within the pile of dust and debris. It might still be there, playing games with us and hoping that someone or something would set foot inside the wards. Or it might be gone, heading back to hell and sniggering to itself at the thought of us watching the remainder of the building burn, never daring to step into the wards and trying to save something. “We’ll have to wait until morning to see if we can summon rain and put the fires out.”

I yawned and a number of spectators joined me. “Go home and get ready for bed,” Master Revels ordered. “I’ll join you there once I have finished securing the building.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, with another yawn. I felt tired and battered, despite the healing potion. The edge it had given me had worn off. “I’ll see you back home.”

The walk back was slower than I had expected. The magical world seemed to have decided that the fire would be a good time for a party, so parts of the market had opened up, selling – much to my amusement – marshmallows and sausages on sticks. Several of the Rationalists were shouting angrily about this, but others seemed to find it hilariously funny and were buying food and drink to partake of while they watched the flames and the recovery effort. I avoided a man with a food tray who was trying to sell me suspicious-looking pies and reached home, fighting to keep down another yawn or two. Fiona greeted me at the door and helped me up the stairs and into the shower. I didn’t bother to undress. I just allowed the cold water to wash over my body and wake me up a little. Afterwards, I managed to undress, get into my pyjamas and stumble back downstairs.

“You need your sleep,” Fiona said, firmly. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to her, so I ignored her words. I wanted to know what had happened and the only way to find out was to ask Master Revels when he came home. “Get upstairs and go to sleep now.”

I started to reply, but I was cut off by a yawn. It was probably for the best. I had forgotten that she could breathe fire and what I had intended to say would have annoyed a saint. Besides, Fiona had saved my life and freedom once. My head swam again, but I refused to fall asleep. I knew that once I fell asleep I would be sleeping for hours – I felt as if I would be sleeping for days – and my curiosity was too strong to allow me to fall asleep. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Master Revels returned home, looking as tired as I felt. He’d changed back into his normal suit, but without the top hat. He didn’t seem to be carrying it when he came home.

“You should be in bed,” he said, when he saw me. I gazed at him blearily. “Come on. I’ll help you to bed.”

“What happened?” I tried to say. My voice refused to work properly and it took me several tries before I said it in a way he could understand. “What happened...?”

“I don’t know yet,” Master Revels said, as he reached out for me and picked me up. It seemed to be almost effortless for him, even though I wasn’t a light girl. I had known that he was stronger than he looked, but I hadn’t known he was
that
strong. My thoughts – I felt like I was almost drunk – ran in strange patterns. He hadn’t needed a cane to set my bottom on fire. “I’ll have to find out, although...I confess I don’t like the timing. Some idiot summons a fire demon on the same day I’m outside the magical world...”

His voice trailed off as darkness gripped my mind. I was barely aware of him carrying me upstairs and putting me to bed, just before I fell into sleep and unpleasant dreams.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“So,” Fiona said, sometime later. “Who’s a sleepy head, then?”

“Oh, shut up,” I growled. I never liked people who were bright and cheerful in the morning, although – come to think of it – I wasn’t sure that it actually
was
morning. I felt rather thick-headed, which suggested I hadn’t slept for as long as I should. “What time is it?”

“Four o’clock in the afternoon,” Fiona said. Her mouth lolled open into a dragonish leer. “You’ll be pleased to know that you didn’t oversleep.”

I ignored this attempt at humour and staggered into the bathroom. Once I had relieved myself – and showered in the vain hope it would help me wake up completely – I pulled on my dressing gown and stumbled downstairs. Fiona, perhaps sensing that I was too tired to carry her, flapped along above me, making sardonic comments about my state of mind. Given that my head felt as if it were made of cotton wool, I had some difficulty in thinking up suitable retorts. I had expected to see Master Revels at the breakfast table – I always saw him in the morning – but he wasn’t there. It took me several minutes to remember that it was actually mid-afternoon and he was probably working elsewhere.

A shimmer appeared above the table as I sat down, rapidly forming into a miniaturised version of Master Revels. “Dizzy,” he said. He sounded as tired as I felt. “I have been called away for a few days. Continue with your studies and wait for me here. If you feel the urge to go out and socialise, fine; just don’t bring anyone, and I mean anyone, back home with you. Make sure you get lots of rest. That was a nasty blow on the head you took.”

The image vanished before I could say anything. “He’s gone out and left me here,” I said, in surprise. I grinned up at Fiona. “I could invite everyone I know and have a massive party.”

“And then spend several days rubbing your bottom and moaning,” Fiona said, darkly. I flushed and she laughed. “I think you might discover that the punishment for inviting others into the building is worse than a simple caning. Do you know the expression that a magician’s home is his castle?” I shook my head. “Well, it’s true...and invading a magician’s home without his permission is something that no magician will take lightly. No one will bat an eyelid if he kills you for having a party without his permission.”

I looked up, surprised. “They take it that seriously?”

Fiona nodded. Her oversized snout bowed towards the table as she moved. “Every magician in the world got that way through study, research and practice,” she said. “The more powerful the magician, the more likely he is to have figured out something that relatively few other magicians have figured out. Most magicians, particularly the young and impatient fools, have a habit of trying to spy on the older ones and steal what they can in the way of knowledge. You never know what piece of knowledge will allow some young upstart to displace you, to beat you in an open duel or silent assassination in the shadows of night, to drive you from your home and take your books and Objects of Power for their own...”

“I understand,” I said. I’d been joking, really. “I won’t even dream of holding a party.”

“That would be wise,” Fiona said, gravely. She winked at me. “I’d suggest studying instead, at least for the first couple of days. He may decide to test you when he comes home.”

I shrugged, waved my hand in the air and triggered the kitchen spells. The magic, when it wasn’t directed, had an uncanny gift for producing food that suited my mood. A plate of sausages, scrambled eggs and toast appeared in front of me and I discovered, somewhat to my surprise, that I was famished. Or perhaps it wasn’t that big a surprise. I hadn’t eaten anything apart from the healing potion for over twenty hours. Fiona watched me carefully as I started to eat – it hadn’t occurred to me, until afterwards, that perhaps I shouldn’t be eating so much – but nothing happened. I finished my meal, clicked my fingers to banish the remains of the meal and the plate back to the magic field and started to return to bed. All of a sudden, I felt tired and worn out again. This time, of course, there was no one to carry me to bed.

The thought kept me warm as I settled back into bed – Fiona watching from her perch at the side of the room – and fell straight asleep. This time, I slept far more peacefully, untroubled by dark and threatening dreams. When I awoke, several hours later, it was six o’clock in the morning. I didn’t need to get up so early, but I didn’t feel like remaining in bed. I ate breakfast, got dressed in my work clothes and walked into the library. It was the same mess as it had been back when I’d first seen it – somehow, it felt as if I had spent my entire life in the magical world – yet at least it was a more ordered mess.

I sorted through the piles of books until I found an old potions book that seemed to date back all the way to the 9
^th
century, although it was impossible to be sure. Master Revels had once commented that there were people who made books that
looked
old, in order to ensure that the suggestion of ancient – and perhaps forgotten – magic helped their sales. Given that the magical world never seemed to have heard of the printing press, let alone computers and modern printing methods, I sometimes wondered why they bothered. There was something charming about the old-style books, yet there were plenty of unreliable spells within them...

Potions tended to have all kinds of effects, depending upon the intent of the person producing them. Sparks had to have more patience and discipline than I had if she was intent on manufacturing potions for a living. Some of them required very precise handling, including making them only at set times of the year, and others required strange, weird and wonderful ingredients. One potion, which revolted me, required a unicorn’s horn and the fur of a mouse that had never mated with another mouse. The penalty for getting it wrong, it seemed, was a colossal explosion. It was claimed to have been invented by a French druid and gave the drinker superhuman strength, but not for very long. It seemed that drinking too much could turn the drinker into stone.