Spiral Path (Night Calls Series Book 3) (34 page)

“
But . . .
the entire stack caught, fast, even the wet wood. It was so great a fire, so
fast, we had to rush out of the shed.” He looked up at me. “We didn’t shut the
door.”

So there was plenty of fresh air to feed the fire. “Did you
lose just the hams, or the entire shed?”

James closed his eyes. “The entire building. All Uncle’s
hams and briskets, the bacon . . . a year’s work.”

After a protracted silence, I chose my words carefully.

“Sounds like you’ll owe him some work or pigs, after you
learn your craft,” I said gently. “That’s why you’re here, Mr. Smith, isn’t it?
A powerful gift requires special teachers.”

“They’re afraid of me,” he whispered. “I have a cousin who
teaches all the children in my family, but after that, he wouldn’t teach me.”

Oh.

What a blessing I have in my family. There was never a hint
that they wouldn’t teach me . . . just working out who would handle which lessons.

“Mr. Smith,” I went on. “This is a good school to learn how
to control powerful gifts. That’s why I’m here. My family believes that the
Livingstons are the best teachers I could have. This school is not a
punishment, no matter how you may have felt when they sent you here. It’s a
gift, if you want it to be a gift.”

“But I’m not making any progress,” he whispered.

Yes, you are
. “Can
I ask one of the older students if he has a suggestion about the fighting?
Maybe you and Mr. Williams could say you weren’t interested in playing with the
wands unless precautions were taken . . . like having someone ready with water
buckets, that sort of thing.” This was going to be hard. Children
will
experiment.

The books. If the books screamed when taken off the grounds,
surely they had some spells that watched for unsupervised activity? Or
smothered unsupervised activity?

“You won’t tell anyone that it’s me, will you?” If his eyes
could actually speak, they would be pleading about now.

“I will not mention your name,” I replied.

They might know who I was talking about, but I would not
confirm it.

“Go get ready for dinner,” I told him. “If you skip tea, we
will have time to come here and see what happens tonight.”

“
Yes,
Miss,” he told me, standing and picking up the handle of the bucket. “May I
carry this to the kitchen for you?”

Lord and Lady, he might turn out as useful as Daniel
Williams.

“
Thank
you, Mr. Smith. I would appreciate your help.”

o0o

There was time to change for supper. I didn’t know if I
would see any of the Mayflower Compact, but if they saw me, I would blend into
the crowd. There were aprons in the classrooms, and I would wear one while we
tried the biscuit recipe.

I studied my lessons, from my French words through reading
about the history of magic. There was a theme to magic in the world—it would be
misused, and then all magic-users would suffer. Surely a few hopeful stories
would show up.

My reward was some of my letters. It took lighting every
candle in the room to make out Marta’s flowing copperplate. My mother always
wrote tightly, like someone trying to save paper. They sent enough news that
they crossed the letters, turning them sideways and writing again, end to end,
the sentences overlapping perfectly like the arms of a cross mounted on a
steeple. Both sides were crossed, the equivalent of four sheets from both of
them, and I could tell my mother would have said more, but could not bring
herself to use another sheet of paper.

Strange, isn’t it? Momma did not have to pay for the letter
to be carried by post; she was giving it to Marta for a magical circle. But
still, she conserved. We might be Irish, but there had to be some Scottish in
there somewhere. We knew how to save when it counted.

I had time to do a lot of thinking. Before I could finish
opening letters, I realized that I had made a decision.

I couldn’t let James Smith try that spell without taking
some precautions. I remembered clearly the ice forming around him . . .
the steam rising off his head. All that beautiful woodwork on the walls, the
racks waiting for new pots of herbs . . . how could I risk James
having an accident?

All these thoughts raced through my head as I made my way
down the corridor of the older girls’ floor. The logical person to ask was my
mentor Margaret, wasn’t it?

So I knocked on Margaret’s door.

“
You
may enter,” came Margaret’s voice.

I opened her door and peeked around the edge. Margaret was
sitting at her table, sprinkling sand over a letter she’d just finished to blot
any extra ink. She looked up, and I saw surprise flit across her face.

“
Miss
Sorensson. I did not expect to see you before supper. Please, come in.” She
gestured toward the other straight chair across from her, and at the rocker she
and Catherin somehow made fit into the room.

I chose the straight-backed chair, mirroring her position.
This was a work visit, not a pleasure one. Folding my hands before me on the
table, I launched right into my story.

“Miss
Rutledge,
I may have started something that is dangerous,” I began, “So
I came to talk with you about it, and see if it can be done without endangering
the household or anyone present.”

Margaret stared. “I must confess that I am taken aback,” she
said. “When I think of your ability to face down things that leave me quaking
in my dreams, your unease is disconcerting.”

Well.

“
I
wanted to help a student,” I began slowly, “so he will not be afraid to
participate in class. Do you know if there are any spells in place to dampen
fires?”

“
Is
this James Smith?” Margaret asked.

“
It
could be,” I replied, trying not to grimace. Some conspirator I was—I started
with the part of the tale that gave everything away!

“
You
convinced him to try a spell?” Margaret looked impressed. “The professors have
been trying to get him to calm down for weeks. How did you . . .
no, never mind that,” she went on quickly. “Yes, there are spells that will
smother a fire. But if he . . . flashed, then the protections
would strain. I can put protections on you and your student; that will make it much
less likely that anyone will get hurt.”

“
Should
we move from the beginning herb room to the spell room upstairs?” I hated to
suggest that—that room gave me the cold grue—but wasn’t that what the room was
designed for?

“
I
think not,” she said. “It might make . . . your student . . .
much more nervous if you did that. Part of why he is talking to you may be
because you are so calm about magical mishaps. Going to the rituals room might
signal unease.”

“
He
wants another student to be there, too, so we need three protected,” I went on.

Margaret’s eyebrows lifted over widened eyes. “Oh. Is this
his friend Daniel Williams? Then I may need to summon assistance. I should be
able to save you and two untrained fire mages, but the room could be scorched.
Professor Livingston would not approve.”

So they thought that Daniel was a fire mage, too? “Do you
think that Professor Livingston knows that there’s a touch healer among the
younger children?”

Margaret took in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I
always assume that Professor Livingston knows about anything important,” she
finally said. “I had not heard that rumor. Do you know which child?”

“
No.
But it’s someone the boys feel comfortable asking to speed up the healing of
their bruises. I think there’s more fighting going on than the numbers on
Saturday punishment reveal.”

A slight smile briefly dimpled Margaret’s face. “I will
bring this up at the guardians’ meeting. We will be on the lookout for any
child looking more tired than usual. Young touch healers generally give
themselves away eventually.”

“Who are the guardians?”

“
Senior
students who help with the protections on the estate,” Margaret replied. “It is
good training for the future. We always learn more when we practice what we
need to know.”

I nodded. Margaret was afraid of her gift with ghosts, but
it seemed that her fear did not extend to power in general. That was good. I
didn’t want her to sit on her talent.

Did this explain the feeling of being watched I always had
in the public areas of the house?

“
Where
should I meet you? Do you need to touch us to put protections on us?”

“
Not
at all. It is easier with an object or something to focus on, but not
impossible to do,” she assured me, rising to her feet. “Let us go have dinner,
and I will do it right afterwards.”

“
I
need to get some yeast,” I remembered aloud as I stood up.

Margaret looked puzzled. “Is yeast used in biscuits? I
thought part of their charm was speed in making? That there is no rising time
for them?”

I managed a smile. “My student may have accidentally gotten
yeast mixed into his dough.”

“
Ah.”
A slight lift of the eyebrows, but Margaret was good at saving questions until
later. “You get some yeast, then, and I will talk with Sinjin about this.” She
checked the fire screen and then held her door open for me.

“
Do
you mean Mr. St. John? Why do people call him that?” I asked, walking through
the doorway.

Margaret halted, her eyes wide with surprise. “Oh, it’s a
nickname of sorts given by young men to their friends with the name St. John.
Another name like that is Sinclair—it comes from the last name St. Claire.”

With a name like Alfreda Eldonsdottir Sorensson, which is
the old way of writing it, I could use a shorter name. “Should I call him Mr.
Sin Jin?”

Margaret covered her mouth with her fingers, which I knew
meant that she was amused. “I really could not tell you whether to use it that
way. Why don’t I ask him for you?”

“
Thank
you,” I said gravely.

Names are important. I didn’t want to get his wrong.

o0o

Margaret’s place to observe us turned out to be a
classroom next to the herb room. When I arrived, I found her arranging chairs
around one of the larger study tables. A large, shallow metal bowl of water sat
upon the table.

My mentor smiled. “Good, we’ll have time to take care of
this protection. It occurs to me that there is a basic spell you should have. I
will show it to you now, and Sinjin will teach it to you in the week to come.
The spell suppresses flame, and will keep your dress from burning should you
turn about too close to a fire. It will also give you protection should one of
the untrained mages erupt suddenly.”

Of course I smiled back. All I could think was
why hadn’t someone thought of this before?
The fire protections on the building were strong ones; apparently I was the
first student teacher who didn’t know such basic spells.

She pulled a long, thin wand from that useful slit in her
lovely muslin dress. The wand was pale, and looked as if it had words or
symbols stained or burned into it, in a spiral design. Then she touched the
skirt of my dress, her gaze flicking away as if her thoughts turned inward.

“
There.
It’s a simple cantrip, and the spell lasts until the dress is washed. It can be
made permanent, but that takes another part of a spell.”

“
How
about the person wearing the dress?”

“
The
house protections should take care of you,” Margaret said promptly. “Still . . .
when Sinjin and the others get here, three of us will spell you as well, just
to be sure. We know Mr. Smith is a fire mage; we are not certain about Mr.
Williams yet. There is no sense in taking the smallest chance.”

“
Others?”
I asked.

“
A
precaution. In case both boys erupt.”

“
How
are you going to use the bowl?” I asked, gesturing at the table.

She smiled. “Watch.” Sitting down, Margaret passed her wand
over the bowl, which looked to be made of hammered pewter. The water rippled, reflecting
the herb room, the decocting fire low behind its fire screen. “We can watch and
hear with this spell, and we’ll know if we need to reinforce any of the
protections on you or the room. And we will be able to put protections on both
of your students.”

“Can you look anywhere with this spell?”

“
It
has to be somewhere you have actually been before,” she replied. “And there are
protections that can be put up to shield for privacy.”

Good
. The
potential of ritual magic began to sink in. Clearly, it could affect the
simplest parts of everyday living.

“
I
should get ready,” I told her. “Can you finish the spells at a distance?”

“
Yes,
we can,” she said, her tone reassuring.

“
Thank
you again.” I started out.

“
Thank
you for asking.” She stood and slid her wand back into her skirt.

That last was interesting,
I thought as I walked next
door. She did not lay her wand down for the few moments she needed to finish
arranging chairs. Best to keep track of it . . . and keep it out
of sight?

I wondered what you could learn about a practitioner by
studying their wand and athame?

o0o

A tiny amount of yeast crumbled into grains and scattered
into one of the small balls of dough, kneaded in, and the dough covered again—
Shaking my head, I wrote down all that I’d done. Since James had dumped a bunch
of sugar in right before his spell, did any time for rising matter at all? He
had noticed no difference in his dough when he found it that morning.