Small Magics (35 page)

Thomas had to work around a mouth full of biscuit to say, “That was because you led us through every bramble in the forest.”

“And after we reached the road?” asked Eileen.

“I was too hungry to think of it.”

“And now?” asked George.

“And now you two are asking too many questions for me to get a word in.”

“Thomas…”

Thomas heeded the warning in George’s voice. “All right, all right.” He swallowed the last of his lunch. “This whole thing’s been about the bishop. Everything that happened to Timothy, to Shamus; my father, Ailbe, you,” he nodded at Eileen. “It’s all been about the bishop collecting the magic.”

“So you said.” Eileen rubbed at her stomach gently, as if trying to reach an itch without actually touching it. “What do we do?”

“We stop him,” said Thomas. “That is, I stop him.”

George nearly choked on his food. “You?”

“If you go after him,” Eileen said, “he’ll have you killed.”

Thomas shook his head. “He’ll have me killed if I go after him or not. He’s already got charges of witchcraft on us. All he needs to do is catch me and I’ll either end up dead or like my father.”

George managed to swallow his food enough to say, “Surely there’s something else you can do.”

“Sure,” said Thomas. “We can run away. Of course, that leaves my father hating me, my mother in a convent, and none of us able to go home ever again.”

George and Eileen both fell silent. For the first time since he’d come home, Thomas could see the family resemblance. Near-identical frowns were on their faces and each one’s brow was pulled down in wrinkles. He knew how they felt. He really didn’t want to try to stop the bishop, but he literally could see no other way to end things.

George spoke first. “How do you stop him, then?”

“I don’t know, yet,” said Thomas. “For now, we get to Hawksmouth. Once we’re there, I can check the library for books on magic. Maybe I can learn how to stop him.”

“And what if you don’t?” asked Eileen. “What then?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas sighed. “It’s not much of a plan, I know.”

George and Eileen looked at one another. Eileen shrugged, and George nodded, then turned to Thomas. “I want to go home again.”

“So do I,” the words came out harsher than Thomas intended them. “But as long as the bishop’s out to get us, we can’t.”

“Aye,” said George. “We know. So we’ll go with you, and we’ll help as best we can.” He shook his head, “Though the Four know what I’m going to do while you’re in the library.”

“Same thing you always do,” said Eileen. “Haul the water and chop the wood.”

George aimed a swat at her, which she ducked without dropping the remains of her lunch. She froze immediately, hissing in a breath and putting one hand against her stomach. George grumbled at her for not taking care of herself, then rose and began gathering the last of the food together. “We may as well get started.” He put the food into his bag. “The sooner we start walking, the sooner we get there.”

“We’ll not be walking all the way,” said Thomas. “It took me three weeks to get here, and the three of us won’t be going any faster. Especially not with Eileen’s injury.” He turned to her. “How is it, anyway?”

“Hurts,” Eileen rubbed her stomach some more, then got to her feet, “But it isn’t bleeding and it isn’t slowing me down.”

“You’ll need to get those stitches out before long,” George said.

“A week, Ailbe said.”

“And that was three days ago,” Thomas thought about it. “We’ll find someone to do it on the way.” He pushed himself to his feet and slung his bag back over his shoulder. “We’ll walk to the river and find the closest town. Once there, we can see about trading one of these gold pieces for silver, then catching the next barge down-stream.”

“What about the bishop’s guard?” asked George. “What if they’re still after us?”

“With luck we’ll be on the boat before they search this far.”

“Then let’s hope for luck,” Eileen said. “And let’s get moving.”

Chapter 16

The rough path that led to Greenwater had turned into a well-trodden dirt road by the time they reached the outskirts of the town. It led to a narrow cobblestone street that meandered towards the centre of town. The streets were almost empty, the residents having retreated home for the night. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the three could hear the residents’ voices, slipping out from behind closed shutters.

The sunlight was slipping off the walls and leaving grey shadows in its wake when they reached the main street of the town. A half dozen inns lined the street, their doors open and casting cheery yellow rectangles of light into the oncoming twilight. Beyond the inns, the street turned to wharves and the large, grey swath of water that was the river Hawk, flowing east towards Hawksmouth and the sea.

Thomas, worried about being noticed, picked the largest and most crowded of the inns and secured a small, single room for the three of them. A day of walking on near-empty stomachs made the unremarkable dinner a feast. None of them had the energy or desire to stay in the common room for any time once dinner was done, and they retreated to their room.

There was only one bed in the small, dark, draughty room Thomas had secured. Thomas and George both insisted Eileen take it, and wrapped themselves in their blankets on the floor. Thomas had half-expected to lie awake through the entire night again. Instead, exhaustion won out, though not until well after the midnight bell.

Far earlier than Thomas wanted, the innkeeper was banging on their door and calling them down to breakfast. Thomas rose with the others, feeling grumpy and out of sorts. And after a breakfast of lumpy porridge and weak tea, the three were back on the street, bags on their shoulders, heading towards the river.

The wharves were solid, thick timber that jutted out into the river, their big pilings holding them fast against the current. Fishing gear was scattered on the docks, and several small boats were pulled up to the bank beside them. Three larger vessels were actually tied to the wharf, and it was there Thomas went and made inquiries. The discovery that all three were going up-river did nothing to improve his mood.

“So, now what?” asked George, leaning back against one of the pilings. “Go back to the inn and wait for another boat?”

The idea was very tempting, but Thomas shook his head at it. “We have no idea if another one is coming today, or if the bishop’s men are still looking for us. We should push on.”

“I don’t suppose we could just hide in the tavern?” asked George, though there was no real hope in his voice.

“We can take the river road south,” said Thomas. “It’s a two-day walk to the next town.”

“If I was the bishop’s men,” said George. “I’d be following the road, too.”

“We can see them coming on the road,” Thomas said. “We should start walking.”

“You would think so,” George grumped as he straightened up and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “It’s your favourite way to travel.”

They picked up some dried sausages and fruit, and another pair of skins for water, and headed east down the road. The town quickly gave way to farms on one side and the occasional fisherman’s shack on the other. The road was sparsely populated with the occasional farmer’s wagon and the odd set of labourers heading to their day’s work. Other than that, they had it to themselves.

There was little traffic on the river, save for the occasional fishing boat, and those dropped away behind them with the last of the fishing huts and farms, leaving nothing but the green water flowing slowly beside them as the trees closed in.

Oaks and elms vied with ash and pine for space, and their branches shaded the dirt of the road, making the walk cool and green. The river road stretched out far in front of them, following the lazy curves of the river, sometimes in sight of it, other times moving away around a hill or patch of swamp. Occasional flowers dotted the side of the path amidst the thick undergrowth that ended sharply at the cobblestones that marked the road’s edge. There was no sign of any other travellers, and no sound save the birds in the woods and the tap of their feet and walking sticks on the road.

“Is anyone going to say anything?” Eileen asked after two hours of walking.

“Why waste the energy?” said George, who was walking easily along and looked to have energy to spare.

“Because I don’t want to spend the whole trip counting the flowers,” said Eileen with some asperity.

Thomas, who’d been doing just that, and naming them as he counted, found himself in agreement. “It would pass the time.”

“Good,” said Eileen. “You start.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because,” grumbled George. “I’ve heard all her stories before.”

“I haven’t,” said Thomas.

Eileen shook her head. “My stories aren’t interesting. Tell me about the Academy.”

George rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

“I’ll tell mine if you tell yours,” said Thomas.

Eileen smiled for the first time, Thomas realized, in a pair of days. “Fine. You go first.”

“Right.” Thomas thought about the mood that had haunted them all since they’d been in Laketown, and decided to lighten it. “Well, there’s the time that Gerrett Plimptin decided that he could eat more breakfast than anyone else in the Academy. The problem was that they were serving spiced eggs that morning…”

By the time they’d stopped for lunch, Thomas had actually made Eileen laugh, which led to her clutching her stitches, and George taking a swat at him. She retaliated in turn by telling of the day when the nuns, to drill the tenets of the faith into her, had spent four hours repeating with her the values of the Loyal Consort. Her story, along with her imitation of Sister Clare, had even George chuckling.

As they sat down and shared the dried sausages among them, Thomas began to think on what she’d said.

“Did they say anything about the Blessed Daughter?” he asked in between chews of the dried sausage.

“Not much,” said Eileen. “They focused on the Loyal Consort, and her role as Mother. They hold the belief that at one time she was equal to the High Father.”

Thomas chewed a bit more, thought on it. “I’m just thinking of what Timothy said. About the Blessed Daughter being the one who gave men magic.”

“Never heard of it before he said it,” said Eileen. “George?”

George snorted. “Where would I hear about it? I spend all day at the anvil.”

Thomas smiled at his big friend. “And do you have a shrine to the Rebel Son hidden in the forge, by any chance?”

George snorted again and shook his head. “Da’s not big on that. He always said that the Four belong in the churches, and the metal in the forge, not the other way around.”

“Probably a good way of looking at it.” Thomas bit off another piece of meat, reflecting that his jaws were going to get as much work as his legs by the end of the day.

“Besides,” added George, “if the Daughter gives magic, why don’t we see any of it around?”

“And why is it all called witchcraft?” Eileen asked. “I mean, if it’s a gift from the Blessed Daughter, shouldn’t it be celebrated?” Thomas tried answering around the mouthful of meat, but found it impossible. He chewed hastily, giving Eileen time to add, “In fact, why is it we never see any services to the Blessed Daughter?”

“Well,” managed Thomas, swallowing down the mouthful, “about two hundred years ago, the Church of the High Father began to gain ascendancy, claiming that it was the true faith, and that the other three were lesser gods. Over the course of the next hundred years, they drove the other sects out of power, claiming their teachings were perversions of the High Father’s truth. If the Daughter’s followers practiced magic, claiming it came from the Banished would be as good a way to discredit them as any.” Thomas contemplated another sausage, then set it aside. His mouth was tired enough. “Makes sense, really. If you want to make someone less than you, the best way is to talk about everything they do as bad.”

“Pattie Seymour tried the same thing on Maggie Jonston,” said George, taking a bite of apple. “It seemed mighty petty, too.”

“It is mighty petty,” agreed Thomas. “What did Maggie Jonston do to Pattie Seymour?”

“That,” said George, “is a long story.”

“We’ve got all afternoon,” Thomas pointed out. “Speaking of which, we should get going.”

“True,” George picked up his bag and started stowing away the food. “Well, it began with Pattie seeing Maggie kissing Billy Tomlin…”

By the time supper came around, Thomas had learned that life in Elmvale was far more interesting than he’d remembered. George turned out to be far more of a gossip than his sister, and had a rather extensive knowledge about who was involved with whom, especially when it came to the village girls.

For his part, Thomas relayed the foibles of a dozen of his classmates and several of his professors by the time they stopped again that evening.

Supper was exactly the same as lunch, and by the time he was finished, Thomas was certain his jaw was going to fall off. The food had not been nearly this bad on his way in, he was sure. Still, they forced it down and the three hit the road again, moving onward until the sun started sinking into the horizon.

They went a fair distance from the road to find a camp spot, more to keep out of sight than for lack of choices. They finally found a comfortable spot well enough away from the road that Thomas felt safe.

“Can we build a fire?” asked George.

There had been neither sight nor sound of anyone else on the road, Thomas knew, and he doubted very much whether the bishop or his men would be travelling by night. “A small one,” said Thomas. “Can you hide it?”

“Aye. I’ll dig a pit.” George pulled out his dagger and started digging into the thick earth. Soon the group was curled up in their blankets, backs to the trees, watching the light of the flames as they danced. The night was alive with noise, but it was all natural; the hum of insects, the gurgle of the brook. No other sounds disturbed them.

“How much further?” asked George. “Twelve miles, according to the last marker we saw,” said Thomas. “That will get us to Highbank. After that, maybe a week on a boat if we can find one.” “I hope so. I’m not sure my boots could manage three weeks of walking.”