Small Magics (40 page)

The stairs ended in a short hall that emptied out onto a narrow street. Benjamin led them down it and out into the heavy traffic of the main thoroughfares. They dodged their way across, then down several other side-streets and across another major road. There were people everywhere, milling about, standing in the street talking, and occasionally pushing back against the walls around them to avoid being trampled by a passing cart or rider. At last, the street they were on opened into a large, busy market.

The square was the size of the Elmvale town common, but with easily five times the number of people, and surrounded on all sides by shops and houses. Vendors had tables set up to display their wares, or sat on blankets on the ground. A juggler was tossing flaming torches while a musician played on a flute, and a small crowd clapped in time. Thomas watched a moment, his heart going back to Timothy, then turned away and plunged into the market.

There were fruit and vegetables—most either small from being picked too early or shrivelled from having been stored over the winter—chickens, both alive and cooked, cheese-sellers, bakers with bread and tarts of meat and berries, and people selling crockery and kitchen gear, gloves and cloaks, and a dozen other things besides. It was lively, loud, vibrant chaos from end to end.

“Hang tight to your purses,” Benjamin said to George and Eileen. “There’s a good number of pick-pockets that work the market, and no doubt they’ll grab anything you’re not holding tight.”

Thomas had already taken a good grip on his purse, and saw his friends do the same. Benjamin plunged into the crowd, and Thomas let Eileen and George follow before bringing up the rear. It was like stepping into a whirlwind. George and Eileen’s eyes were darting everywhere, trying to catch everything that was happening. Benjamin looked over his shoulder to George. “First time in the city, is it?”

“Aye,” said George, pulling his eyes away from a display of leather goods. “It’s busy.”

“That it is,” agreed Benjamin. “The first year I was here I couldn’t keep up with anything. Spent most of my time in the Academy library just to keep my mind straight. You said your father’s a smith?”

“Aye.”

“Mine’s a stone mason.” Benjamin stopped abruptly, pointing down one of the aisles. “Found him!”

“Found who?” Eileen asked.

“Him,” said Thomas, stepping up beside them and pointing down the aisle. A short, fat man stood in front of a small cart, with several roasted chickens on it. “He is the finest cook in the quarter. And where his stand is, you’ll find the stand of the best baker, freshest fruit, and best wines.”

“It’s a game he plays,” Benjamin explained. “Most of the merchants have their own place that they stay in, but he likes to move around the market, just to keep us on our toes.”

“Bernard!” Thomas called. The man behind the cart looked around, spotted Thomas, and waved.

“Thomas!” he called back. “I thought you were gone to visit your family!”

“I was,” agreed Thomas, “I just got back.”

“And the first thing you do is visit me? I’m grateful!”

“Where else would I go? I’m hungry.”

“I’ll give you a good meal, I promise that!”

“Can you give me a good meal for five?”

“Five?” The man looked impressed. “You must have come home with money.”

“Not a lot,” Thomas made his voice as casual as possible, “but enough to feed all my friends for a day if you don’t drive too hard a bargain.”

“I never drive too hard a bargain,” Bernard said, widening his eyes in pretended offence. “We will give your friends a good feed.” He turned to the stalls on either side. “Come on, you lot. Wine! Bread! And for the centerpiece…” He turned behind him, where a metal trough held several roasts of beef and pork on spits. “Here we are!” He reached back and pulled one of the beef roasts.

“Rare and fine. And no doubt you’ll want some chicken as well.”

“Of course.”

“Well then, here you go.” A chicken came off another spit. “Your timing is just perfect. I’ve been getting ready for the supper crowd, and you’ve beat them to it.”

“Good. Benjamin, take the wine cart; George, the bread.”

George watched as Benjamin turned and immediately began haggling. Without a second thought, he turned to the baker’s cart and demanded the price on two loaves of bread so fresh the steam was still rising from them. Soon, lively discussions were happening on either side. Bernard watched the two squeezing every possible penny, and looked disapprovingly at the young man before him. “Thomas, Thomas, you wouldn’t starve an old friend now, would you?”

“Not I,” Thomas said. “Alex?”

Eileen stepped forward and smiled at the cook. Thomas grinned. The city may have been overwhelming for George and Eileen, but markets were the same everywhere. He listened a moment as Eileen, feigning complete indifference to the food, began haggling far better than Thomas would have managed. “I’m going for dessert,” Thomas said. “Have George pay for it all, then the lot of you meet me at the edge of the market.”

***

The four returned to the apartment as the last of the evening light was fading. George and Eileen both stopped in the door and glanced back at Thomas in surprise. Thomas, guessing what had happened, pushed them in. The common room had been tidied, the table cleared and set with clean plates and mugs and fresh candles. The bottle of wine, mostly untouched, sat in the centre of the table. Henry, seeing George and Eileen’s expressions, smiled at them and bowed deeply. “I may be a pompous ass,” he declared, “but I will not have it said I keep a poor table for company.”

He quickly relieved the four of their burdens and set them on the table. In a short space of time, he had the meat carved, glasses filled, and was gesturing them all to sit and eat. All five dug in with gusto. Roast beef, chicken, bread, and potatoes all vanished at high speed. Henry kept everyone’s glasses filled and all five became quite merry. Thomas attempted to talk about what had happened in Elmvale, but Henry waved him off.

“Business is not suitable talk for the table,” he declared. “Now we eat, drink, and be merry. Later, we fix your problems.” He turned to George. “So, are you a smith like your father, then?”

Thomas gave up. Henry played gracious host very well, and for an hour or so, Thomas let him. Henry and Benjamin caught him up on the doings of the city, and the conversation ranged from the latest plays to the antics of the professors to a new treatise questioning the position of the nobility in society.

The five finished three bottles of wine by the time the last plate was cleared. Thomas let the others drink the lion’s share of it, though he was by no means sober. Henry refilled each mug again and led them away from the table to the cushions on the floor. He took one for himself and sat, swaying all the way down.

“Not a bad dinner at all,” said Henry, sipping at the wine. “How many bottles

do we have left?” “Four,” Benjamin said, swaying himself as he lowered his bulk onto a

cushion. “I bought a lot.” “Good.” Henry sipped again and turned to Thomas. “Now. The long version.” “What?” said Thomas. “Witchcraft and theft,” reminded Henry. “Oh. That.” Thomas slid down the wall until he, too, was on the floor, and

gestured George and Eileen to do the same. They did, though warily. “What about witchcraft?” Benjamin demanded, swinging slightly unfocused

eyes to Henry. “Thomas is wanted for witchcraft,” said Henry. “He said so before dinner.” Benjamin thought about it. “Right. I’d forgotten.” “So now he’ll tell us the long version of the story,” Henry took another drink,

“and then we will hang him.” “Not funny,” Benjamin said, firmly. “Not even if you’re drunk. Which you are.” “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” “Fine then,” Henry waved Benjamin off. “I’m drunk. Now what’s the story?

From the beginning.”

Thomas managed to tell the story fairly succinctly, up to the point where he’d been beaten by the bishop’s men. He stopped there, thinking hard about how much to tell Benjamin and Henry. He’d known them for four years now, and trusted them both. They weren’t the sort who would turn their backs on him, though they certainly wouldn’t believe what had happened. Thomas took a deep breath and told what happened in the family prayer room, stopping at, “And that’s when the bishop tried to tear out part of my soul.”

There was a long silence. Benjamin and Henry both looked befuddled. At

last, Henry ventured, “You’re speaking metaphorically, right?” “No.” Henry turned to George. “Is he joking?” George shook his head. “No. And there’s more.” “More?” Henry swung his head between the two. “You have something to top that?” Thomas sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” He told the rest of the story, watching his friends closely as he did. They

stayed silent until he finished, then Henry asked the obvious question. “You’ve gone insane, right?” Thomas shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” Henry turned to George and Eileen. “He has gone insane, right?” The siblings looked at each other and hesitated. It was George who finally

spoke. “We don’t know.” “What?” Thomas was shocked. “We’re sorry,” Eileen said. She turned to Henry. “I mean, everything he said

about the bishop being after us is true, and something
was
wrong with Ailbe, but as for the magic…”

Thomas suddenly felt very alone. “I thought you believed me.”

“We want to,” said George. “It’s just that we haven’t
seen
any magic.”

“What about Timothy?” demanded Thomas. “What about the ball of light?”

George stared at the floor. “All I saw was a ball, Thomas,” he mumbled. “I couldn’t tell you if it was light or wood. I’m sorry.”

Thomas’s heart felt like it was being squeezed. “But you were
there
…”

“But we didn’t
see
anything,” Eileen looked almost as upset as Thomas felt. She turned back to Henry and Benjamin. “And it doesn’t change anything, really. The bishop is still after us, Thomas’s father still kicked him out, and the bishop’s men killed Shamus and Timothy. All that’s true, and Thomas thought you would help.”

“How?” asked Benjamin. “Other than buying you passage on the next ship out?”

“Help me
prove
it,” Thomas tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. He had hoped George and Eileen had believed him, at least a bit, and the news that they didn’t rattled him far more than he expected. “I need to find out how the bishop is doing it, and I need to stop him.”

Benjamin thought about it. “Are you sure he’s using witchcraft?”

“Magic,” Thomas corrected. “Not witchcraft.”

“All magic is witchcraft,” said Benjamin.

“Ah!” said Henry, raising an unsteady finger. “Not according to the Council of Carlyle.”

“Exactly,” Thomas spoke slowly. “At Carlyle they declared that witchcraft came from the power of the Banished. Magic doesn’t.”

“Then where does it come from?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Thomas. “Timothy thought that it was a gift from the Blessed Daughter.”

“Can’t be,” Benjamin shook his head, the movement nearly making him tip over. “The Blessed Daughter gives us music and art, not witchcraft. She doesn’t have that power.”

“She doesn’t now,” said Thomas. “Maybe she did, once.”

“The gods don’t change.”

“Yes, they do!” declared Eileen. Everyone turned to look at her, and she blushed. “I mean, the nuns always talked of a time when the Loyal Consort was the Great Mother, giver of all life and death, who ruled beside the High Father.”

“That is true,” said Henry. “And why were you hanging out with nuns?”

Thomas spoke before Eileen had to answer. “Timothy’s mother told him a story of when the gods were equal and had names. She couldn’t remember what they were, but she remembered they had names.”

“It’s not in any of the books I’ve seen,” said Benjamin, stubbornly. “And I’ve read far more theology than either of you.”

“If I was going to make my church supreme,” Henry pointed out, “I’d get rid of all the books that say otherwise.”

“Exactly!” said Thomas. “I mean, have any of us seen any books written about the Blessed Daughter? Or the Loyal Consort, or the Rebel Son, other than those written by the priests of the High Father? The Church of the High Father has been in ascendancy for the last two hundred years. What if they did it by getting rid of the things that made the other gods important?”

“Like magic?” asked George.

“Aye! How can the Church of the High Father be supreme if the priests of other gods can do magic and theirs can’t?”

“It’s a good argument,” said Henry. “Pity there’s no such thing as magic.” He nodded at Benjamin. “Or witchcraft.”

“It’s not witchcraft,” said Thomas, quietly.

“How do you know?” demanded Benjamin.

“Because there’s no such thing!” Henry repeated.

“It can’t be witchcraft,” said Thomas slowly, “because if it is, I’m guilty of it, too.”

Benjamin was the first to work his way through what Thomas meant. When he had, he looked even more confused. “But you said you only saw him do it.”

“That’s right. I
saw
him do it. No one else can.”

Benjamin stared at Thomas for a good length of time. At last, he leaned back against the wall, holding his head. “I’m too drunk for this.”

“We all are,” agreed Henry. “We should go to bed and start over in the morning.”

“We can’t,” said Benjamin, sounding very worried. “Because I’m duty bound to report witchcraft to the Master of Theology.”

George and Eileen’s jaws both dropped at once. Henry’s head snapped around to Benjamin. “You can’t turn him in!” he protested. “There’s no such thing as witchcraft! He’s just gone crazy.”

“You’re not really helping,” said Thomas.

Benjamin was at once looking extremely sorry and very stubborn. “The Master of Theology has to know if someone is using witchcraft.”

“It’s not witchcraft!”

“No one is telling the Master of Theology anything,” declared Henry.

“I’m duty bound,” began Benjamin, but Henry cut him off.

“Are you going to tell him the
bishop
is using witchcraft?” demanded Henry. “Because all you’ve got is Thomas’s word for it, and he’s insane.”