Small Magics (18 page)

“No, I just…” Thomas remembered the night by the fire; the mugs of whiskey in their hands and Timothy’s clear, strong voice singing to them as his fingers danced across the lute. Tears threatened to well up again, but Thomas forced them back. “I just want to see him laid down right.”

Bluster was watching him again, but there was no accusation in the look, only curiosity. “What was he to you, lad?”

Magic.
“A friend,” Thomas said. “A new friend, but still a friend.”

Bluster nodded, and for the first time that day, Thomas saw something resembling sympathy in his expression. “Aye. Well, we’ll see him buried properly, whatever happens.”

Chapter 8

Thomas woke at the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder. He opened his puffy eyes and squinted. It was early evening, judging from the light slanting through the room, and Eileen was standing by the edge of the bed.

He smiled at her. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“Have I missed dinner?”

“Mother kept some warm near the fire for you.”

“Good.” He started to sit up, felt his ribs and stomach muscles protest.

“Thomas…”

The tone of her voice stopped him. “What’s wrong?”

“Your brother’s here.”

“My brother?” Thomas tossed back the blankets and rolled out of the bed, groaning at the pain the movement caused. Eileen jumped back, her mouth opening in what Thomas guessed was a protest. It went unvoiced when she saw he was still wearing his breeches. Thomas took the moment to run his hands over his head, attempting to bring order to his unruly mop of hair, then found his shirt and began pulling it on.

“How long has he been here?”

“He only just arrived,” said Eileen. “He’s talking to Father in the smithy.”

Thomas finished with the shirt and bent over to pick up his boots. He grunted and groaned his way through getting them on, then stood up. Eileen offered a steadying hand but Thomas managed to rise without it. He looked across the room to his sword belt, sitting on top of George’s trunk.

“Is he alone?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t know,” said Eileen. “I think so.”

It’s my brother,
Thomas thought.
I don’t need a sword to talk to my brother.

If he’s alone.

He picked up the weapons and headed down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Magda looked disapprovingly at the sword belt in Thomas’s hand but didn’t say anything. She pointed out the back door. Thomas could see George and Lionel talking to Neal by the smithy. Thomas took a deep breath, then stepped out of the house and crossed the yard.

“Thomas!” Neal took a few steps forward then stopped. “By the Four! What happened to your face?”

That made Thomas stop. “You don’t know?”

“I was in the woods all night,” his brother said, blushing. “And I spent the day at warehouses, organizing an order for the end of the week.”

“Have you seen Mother?”

“I haven’t seen anyone save Father. He stopped me when I walked in the door.” Neal looked confused and held up a letter. “He told me to deliver this to you. Thomas, why aren’t you staying at home?”

“I’m not welcome there.”

“Because of what you did at the Fire?” Neal waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t be daft. Father did the same thing, and not with Mother, either—”

Thomas cut Neal off before the other could start asking for explanations Thomas couldn’t give. “Neal, what does the letter say?”

“I don’t know. Father sealed it. Said I was to give it to you, and get your reply. I thought the whole thing was ridiculous myself, but…” He handed over the letter. Thomas broke the seal and started reading.

“What does it say?” asked Neal.

Thomas didn’t answer. He read every word in the letter twice. By the second time through, he was starting to feel dizzy. He handed it back to his brother without a word. He should have been furious, he knew, but the anger wouldn’t come. Too much had happened too fast.

“Well?” said Neal.

Thomas, feeling numb and unsteady, walked past him to lean his back against the smithy wall. “Read it yourself.”

Neal scanned the letter quickly and his jaw dropped. Then he started at the beginning of it again. “Surely he’s joking.”

“I doubt it.” Thomas closed his eyes.

“But he can’t be serious!” said Neal. “You haven’t finished school!”

The dark behind Thomas’s eyelids soothed him, lulled his body into stillness. Still the emotion wouldn’t come. He wished for something, anything for him to cling onto in the dark blankness of his mind.

“What does it say?” asked Lionel. “Thomas?”

“My father,” said Thomas, his eyes still shut, “wants me to go at once to Berrytown, where the bishop is going to be in one week’s time. There, I am to go into the church and spend my time in solitary prayer until the bishop’s arrival. When that blessed event occurs, I am to throw myself at his feet, beg his forgiveness, and ask to be taken into his service.”

“His service?” It was George asking, disbelief in his voice.

“And me not even a Theology student.” Bitterness came, cold and bile-filled. Thomas let it feed him, let the anger that followed it give him strength.

“His service?” Lionel repeated. “What would you do in the bishop’s service?”

“Oh, it gets better,” said Thomas, opening his eyes. The words felt like venom, burning his mouth as he spoke them. “You see, if I don’t, my father will go to the magistrate. He will claim that I have forsaken my education, my family, and my responsibilities. Then he will demand repayment at once, in full.”

“You can’t afford that,” said George. “Can you?”

“No.” Thomas pushed himself off the wall and fumbled with the sword belt. “Which is why he’ll have me sent to the debtor’s prison.”

He straightened out the belt and settled it around his hips. The weight of the weapons was a cold, hard comfort.

“Thomas?” George’s eyes were on the weapons on Thomas’s hips.

“I’m going to see my father.” Thomas said in reply to the unasked question.
Even if it means facing down the bishop.
“I’m going to talk some sense into him, and if that doesn’t work…” Thomas saw the fear in the eyes of those around him, fear for him and for what he was going to do.

“If that doesn’t work,” repeated Thomas, “then I’ll tell him to go to the Banished and take the bishop with him.”

“Thomas?” Neal’s voice called after him as he walked. Thomas ignored it. “Thomas!”

Thomas heard Neal’s running steps on the road behind him, and a moment later his brother was walking beside him. “I’m going with you,” said Neal. Thomas thought briefly about protesting, but kept his mouth shut. If the bishop was there, the man might think twice about attacking him with a witness present. Besides, maybe Neal could talk John Flarety back into his senses.

The Four know I haven’t been able to.

Neal badgered Thomas for details all the way home, demanding to know everything that happened after Thomas left the Fire. Thomas said nothing about the magic, but let him know everything else, including what he’d heard once he’d been thrown out of the house. Neal’s eyes grew wide as he listened, and by the time the two reached their yard, he was furious. “I can’t believe this. Our father isn’t like that.”

“Our father wasn’t like that,” corrected Thomas. He stopped in front of the main door and raised his hand to knock.

“What are you doing?” asked Neal, stepping past him and pushing the door open. “We live here, remember?”

A pain that had nothing to do with the bishop blossomed in Thomas’s chest. He dropped his hand. “I forgot.”

Neal looked ready to say something about that, but didn’t. “Come on,” he said instead. “Father should be in his study.”

The brothers strode quickly through the main chambers of the house and up the wide front stairs. There was no sign of anyone. Thomas was relieved. Servants were traditionally given the day after Fire Night off to recover, but Thomas hadn’t been certain of the guests. They probably had all headed home that morning, leaving John Flarety to himself.

They moved in silence, their footsteps muffled by the carpet that ran the length of the hallway. Thomas pushed himself ahead of his brother as they approached his father’s door. A lifetime of parental training nearly made him stop and knock. He ignored it, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. John Flarety, sitting behind his desk, came to his feet. On his first step into the room, Thomas realized that his father was not alone. On his third, he realized who was with him.

Thomas stopped, suddenly unsure of himself, then rocked forward as Neal ran into him. He managed to keep his balance, but lost the last of his composure. Behind him, Neal was also still.

“Thomas,” said Bluster, rising to his feet from the chair in front of John’s desk. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you that he would not be able to resist coming,” said John Flarety. “And armed, too.”

Bluster nodded. “Aye, you did.”

Neal stepped around Thomas, his eyes on his father. “What is the Reeve doing here?”

“Waiting for Thomas’s answer,” said John Flarety. “And from the weapons your brother brought, I’d say we know what it is.”

“Don’t be hasty,” Bluster fixed Thomas with his piercing glare. “Why are you armed, lad?”

“Because he’s a ruffian,” said John. “And now he’s dragging his brother into it.”

“He’s not dragging me anywhere,” protested Neal. “What happened here last night?”

“Don’t you start—”

“Quiet!” Bluster’s word cracked like a whip through the room, silencing them both. “Now, Thomas, what brings you here?”

A dozen thoughts leapt through Thomas’s brain at once, but none pulled themselves out of the pack long enough to be articulated.

“It’s obvious what the boy is doing here,” John said. “He doesn’t like the decision I’ve made for him, and now he’s come to protest it with his weapons. Arrest him!”

“I’ll not be arresting anyone who hasn’t done anything,” said Bluster, raising a warning finger. “And I want
Thomas
to tell me why he’s here.”

“But—”

Bluster fixed his glare on John Flarety. “Thomas, I said.”

John fell silent, but the muscles in his jaw twitched and his eyes were still burning with anger.

Bluster stepped forward cutting off Thomas’s view of his father. “Come on, now, lad. Why did you come here?”

“I want…”
I want to know what the bishop has done to you, Father.
The words

were on the tip of his tongue, but there was no way to let them out. Bluster would demand to know what he was talking about, and if Thomas started spouting about magic he could say goodbye to any chance of sympathy. He had to get his father talking.

“Well, lad?” said Bluster.

“I want to know why you invited Timothy to the May fair.”

It was certainly not what John Flarety had been expecting. “What?”

“Timothy,” said Thomas. “The juggler. Why did you invite him here?”

John Flarety looked suddenly nonplussed, and when he answered he sounded perplexed, rather than angry. “The bishop suggested him.”

The bishop planned his murder,
Thomas thought. “The same way he
suggested
I leave the Academy?”

John’s face began turning red and the confusion vanished from his tone. “The bishop had nothing to do with that decision. You need direction in your life!”

Thomas forced his voice calm. “I have a direction.”

The red darkened to purple. “You dare question me?”

“Yes!” Thomas stepped forward, but the Reeve blocked him with an outstretched arm. “Father, I have done everything you asked of me. I have written home every month. I’ve passed all my classes. I’ve gotten honours in Languages and Philosophy and Law. I even took that course on Engineering so I could build improvements for our wagons! Why do you want me to stop now?”

“I don’t need to answer to you.”

“Yes, you do! You’re asking me to give up everything I’ve worked for! Everything you’ve
paid
for! Why?”

“I’ll not be subject to this!”

“Yes, you will!”

“Calm down!” snapped Bluster. “Both of you!”

John was in full rage and certainly in no mood to listen. “You miserable creature!” He stepped around his desk and closed the distance between them. “How dare you speak to me in this way! I am your father and you will do exactly what I wish!”

“Father—” began Neal, stepping in front of him.

“Be silent!” John pushed Neal aside and came face to face with his younger son. “You dare question me?”

Bluster, behind John Flarety, put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Back away, John.”

John shrugged him off. “I will not have my son disobey me!”

“Father,” Thomas kept his voice level and slow, “these are not your words.”

“Insolence!” The slap was aimed right at the bruises on his face and was hard enough to rock Thomas back on his heels. Thomas stifled a cry, then was jolted forward as his father grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward. “You will do exactly what I say, or I will have you jailed! Do you understand me?”

“I am not going to serve the bishop!”

Bluster grabbed at John’s shirt, but the man was already pushing Thomas backwards.

“You’re going to do as I say!”

“The bishop’s twisted you!”

“That Academy has twisted you!” shouted John, shoving Thomas hard against the study wall. “It has turned you into a creature beyond redemption! The bishop has helped me see the truth!”

“What truth? That you should have me beaten senseless?”

“I did nothing of the kind!” John snapped. “I asked two of the bishop’s men to help him with his prayers, and in the midst of it, he attacked them!”

“Thomas?” said Bluster. “Is that true?”

“No!” Thomas pulled at the hands on his shirt. “He lies!”

“Lies?” John pulled him away from the wall then shoved him back into it. “Lies, you little bastard?! Get out of my house! Out!” John dragged him to the study door. “Out!”

“Stop it, Father!” Thomas yelled, struggling against the hands on his shirt. John let go with one hand and slapped Thomas again. Thomas’s head rang with it, and blood began running from his nose.

“Father!” Neal attempted to step in. John shoved him aside, then put both hands onto Thomas’s shirt and threw him out of the office and against the far wall of the hallway. Thomas bounced off it, saw his father coming towards him, hands raised in fists.