The Mage and the Magpie (6 page)

“Dad,” she said as she spooned instant mashed potatoes onto her plate, “that was a very good lecture.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You think so? I didn’t overdo the oxen thing?”

“A little bit,” she admitted. “But it was still good.”

“Grandpa was better at explaining it,” he said. He smiled at her and began to dig through the chicken.

They ate in silence for a while, then Brinley thought of something. “Dad, we’re still going to Morley together, right?”

“Of course,” he said.

She nodded, glad that he hadn’t abandoned the idea simply because she had gone without him. She looked at him again. He seemed to be lost in thought.

“Did it happen again today?” he asked suddenly.

She nodded. “I heard a really loud bell again,” she said, “when I was right by the church.”

He nodded, taking another bite of chicken.

“Dad,” she said slowly. “There was no bell there.”

He nodded again. “There is something strange going on for sure,” he said. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

“I might go again tomorrow,” she blurted out.

He gave her a searching look. “Why not just wait till Saturday when I can go with you?”

She shrugged, not wanting to explain. The truth was she felt a bit embarrassed about the way she had practically run away from the situation. It seemed real enough at the time, but looking back it was clear to her that she must have simply let her imagination get the best of her. She was going to make herself walk all around the church until she was convinced of how ordinary it was, even if she had to sit there drawing birds and looking at nothing all day long. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her dad without sounding crazy.

“I just have to,” she said.

He made a face. “If you say so. But be careful, and don’t spend all day there.”

“Okay,” she promised. “I won’t.”

***

True to her word, Brinley only spent two or three hours there the following afternoon. She didn’t see or hear a single thing out of the ordinary. Mother Magpie was there again‌—‌that bird she had seen on the day she had heard the voice‌—‌and she drew another picture of her. Then she sat down inside the church and spent an hour doing a full panoramic sketch of the inside, taking care to make it look as ordinary as possible.

After she had gathered up her things, she took one last look at Morley Church before leaving. She was about to walk away when a thunderous gong shattered her thoughts.

She could feel the sound reverberating through her whole body. Instinctively, she looked up to the bell tower in the church. It was empty, of course. Wherever the sound was coming from, it wasn’t anywhere she could see. And strangely enough, as far as she could tell, nothing else was aware of the noise. The birds were still singing happily, and a squirrel scampered past her on the forest floor. Somehow, for some reason, just as it had done for her father, the bell rang only for her.

Chapter Eight

In which Hugo is bitten by a monster

P
ut that down this instant!” Archibald cried. Hugo jumped. He swept the bell behind his back, but it was too late. He had awakened that morning to find Archibald still asleep. He couldn’t help noticing the little silver handle protruding from his teacher’s vest pocket. He told himself he would just take a peek. But, of course, it is very hard to not ring a bell after you have it in your hand. He thought if he did it very quietly, he might be able to return it without ever waking Archibald.

“Give it to me.”

“What’s it for?” Hugo said, dancing away boldly now that the jig was up.

“Give it to me, and I will tell you.”

Hugo’s brows creased together sharply. He held out the bell.

“There,” Archibald looked relieved. “Now don’t go taking it again.”

“But it doesn’t make any noise! What’s it for?” Hugo asked again.

“Ah. I never said
when
I would tell you, did I?”

Hugo looked outraged. “But‌—‌” Archibald gave a little chuckle. “Do not ‘pop your top.’ If you must know, it is a summoning bell.”

“A summoning bell?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s it summon?”

“The Magemother.”

Hugo looked around. “But it doesn’t ring.”

“It rings where she is. She hears it, and she comes.”

“But she didn’t come,” Hugo said, eyeing him suspiciously, sure that Archibald was tricking him.

“Indeed,” Archibald said darkly. “She did not.”

Hugo wasn’t sure why, but Archibald seemed to be in a bad mood after that. They poured water from the lake on the small remnants of their fire and packed their bedrolls. Quietly, they shared a loaf of pan bread and honey. It wasn’t a particularly good breakfast‌—‌certainly not what they were used to receiving in the castle, but to Hugo, who had only ever read about such things, it felt incredibly daring to start the day out with a simple lump of bread and then jump in the saddle.

When they had finished, Archibald pushed his hat a little more firmly onto his head and climbed onto Pilfer. The dapple grey pony moved into a canter and Hugo followed. The jet black horse that Hugo rode was so tall that he towered over Archibald on his pony. He had been bred for the king but was born with markings like ivory socks on each leg, so he was given to the prince instead. Hugo named him Stilts for his height and white legs.

Archibald looked up at him and frowned. “I am not sure it is entirely healthy for you to be looking down on me all day long.”

Hugo smiled wryly. “Well, I’m not riding your pony.”

“Too right, you are not,” Archibald said protectively, patting Pilfer on the side. “He is too much for you to handle.”

Hugo rolled his eyes.

***

They traveled at a steady pace, camping by the river as they went so the horses could drink and graze. Each morning Archibald continued Hugo’s lessons. They spoke of history, politics, philosophy, and for the most part it was quite boring.

After three days of this, they found themselves traveling through the forest in the early afternoon. Archibald was telling Hugo a story about a long dead king, and for once he was trying to pay attention.

“Why was he going to be beheaded again?” he asked, rummaging in his bag for an apple.

“
He
was not, Hugo. Pay attention. His brother was going to be executed because the wizard Tif told the high court that he was responsible for the murder of a visiting lord. The king discovered that she was lying and raced from his chambers to the courtyard to stop the execution, but he arrived moments too late, and his brother died. That was the last time that wizards were allowed to give testimony in the king’s court until the Magemother took up a teaching post at the Magisterium and began to mend ties between the courts and the wizards.”

“Well,” Hugo said, taking a bite and talking through a mouthful of apple, “I woodn’t hab lep my buther die.”

“Oh?” Archibald said with a grimace. “And how would you have stopped it? Figure things out more quickly?”

“No,” Hugo said, making a slow gesture with the half-eaten apple as if the answer was obvious. “I would’ve gotten to him sooner. People say I waste time exploring the castle, but I bet I could have made it to the courtyard in half the time h‌—‌AAH!”

Pilfer, who had been eying Hugo’s apple for some time, had snapped it out of the prince’s hand mid-gesture.

Archibald laughed as Pilfer downed the apple and dipped his head approvingly. “My apologies, Hugo, I should have warned you. He has a habit of pilfering food; you see, that is how he got his name. He means no harm by it.” Archibald patted the side of Pilfer’s neck appreciatively.

“He’s a monster,” Hugo said darkly, rubbing his bruised fingertips and glaring down at the pony.

Archibald gave him a moment to recover, then tried to divert his attention. “So how
would
you
have made it to the courtyard on time?”

“What?” Hugo said, looking up from his fingers. “Oh, I would’ve taken the chicken stairs.”

“The chicken stairs?” Archibald said skeptically.

Hugo blushed. “Well, I don’t know what they’re actually called, I guess, but it
is
the fastest way.”

Archibald was thinking. “There are three hidden exits to the south,” he said, ticking them off one by one on his fingers, “the king’s closet, the maid’s mirror, and the clover shoot.”

“And the chicken stairs,” Hugo insisted. He could tell that Archibald didn’t follow, so he hastened to explain, excited to finally know something his tutor did not. “Behind that seascape across from the Magemother’s rooms‌—‌the one that comes out in the chicken coop outside the castle.”

“There’s a passage that comes out in the chicken coop?” Archibald said incredulously.

Hugo nodded. “Yeah, I use it all the time; it’s the only exit that the guards don’t bother watching at all‌—‌I guess they think the smell will do the trick all by itself.”

Archibald laughed generously, putting his hand across his chest to steady himself. “Hugo,” he said, grinning, “they do not guard it because they do not know that it is there.
I
did not know. And neither did your great-great-grandfather, who as it turns out, could have saved his brother’s life with a trip through the hen house. Ha!”

Hugo grinned.

“So,” Archibald said, straightening his hat. “What is the lesson in all of this?”

“Never underestimate a chicken?”

“No,” Archibald said shortly, but he was still smiling. “Skio kor toom.”

Hugo bit his lip, trying to remember what that meant. His knowledge of the old language was poorer than it should have been, mostly because studying it always put him to sleep.

“Know your own heart,” Archibald offered. “Or in this case, your own home. Either way, I think we should focus on ancient languages for the rest of the day.”

Hugo groaned. “Why?”

Archibald gave him an appraising look. “Because once again you have proven that you are incapable of translating even the simplest of phrases.”

“It’s not like I’m ever gonna need it,” Hugo complained. “No one uses it anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Archibald said. “No one uses it? I just used it now.”

Hugo rolled his eyes.

“You are using it now, as a matter of fact, for our language has grown
out
of those that have gone before. As such it behooves those of high station to make themselves acquainted with it.”

Hugo was berating himself silently. Why had he let Archibald go down this road? His teacher was obsessed with language, and now he was going be punished for saying it wasn’t important‌—‌probably for hours. He was still arguing vehemently about the supreme importance of it.

“As a future ruler you will be in a position to affect the culture of the kingdom at large. I will, therefore, to the best of my ability, see that you are properly educated. Speaking of which,” he said reproachfully, “
It’s
not like
I’m
ever
gonna
? When did you start talking like this? You have been spending too much time cavorting with the servants, and too little with your teachers and your peers.”

“I regret that you disapprove of my colloquial tone,” Hugo said dryly.

“Aha!” Archibald exclaimed. “I knew you had it in you. Why do you not use it more often? Do you resent your education? Your position? Are you hoping that someone
else
will be the king someday, so that you won’t have to?”

“Yes,” Hugo said honestly.

Archibald stared at him. “Well,” he sighed, “I suspected as much. But we have some time. Let’s save that hurdle for another day, shall we?”

Hugo relaxed.

“Transfirendum hok kwayezo. Translate.”

Hugo moaned.

***

That night, Hugo struggled to sleep. When the fire began to die down and Archibald’s breathing became deep and even, he found himself counting the stars as they emerged, one by one, from the depth of the night. He shifted from side to side, unable to stop thinking how uncomfortable sleeping outdoors was. If only that root was gone, or that stone, or the sound of that bug, maybe then he could sleep.

After a while he realized that it was his mind that was uncomfortable. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Lux staring back at him, one blue eye, one black and empty…so empty. He shivered. Part of him never wanted to set eyes on the mage again. Another part of him wanted to speak his name right now and see if he would appear. For all his strangeness, Lux had
real
magic,
real
power‌—‌power like he had always dreamed of. He had always been drawn to magic‌—‌like a fox to a hen house, his father had said, because he had no business being there. He sighed. If only he were that interested in laws or governing or politics, maybe then his father would be happy. He had read every book he could get his hands on about magic, about mages, but there was nothing in them that said how to become one. It couldn’t be done, it seemed. Either you were magical or you weren’t.

Something tugged at his heart, a deep sadness that he hadn’t known before. He would never be what he wanted to be. He could never become the man he felt like on the inside. It wasn’t in the cards. His heart felt heavy. The weight of it nearly crushed him. This was so stupid! Why couldn’t he be content with the life he was given like other people were. He was going to be king! Wasn’t that good enough?

He knew deep down that it wasn’t. He would never be satisfied being like everyone else. But what choice did he have?

A single tear squeezed out of his eye, and he wiped it away hastily, berating himself. He was being a baby. With an effort, he steeled his resolve, pushing away the aching in his heart. He would just have to ignore it. A prince would do nothing else. He was out in the real world now. Archibald was trusting him. He needed to start acting like a man. If that meant giving up his dream, then that’s what had to be done.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to stop thinking about it.

From above his head, a bird began to sing; it was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep, and the last thing he thought was that it was odd for a bird to sing at night. It was, wasn’t it? This must be a particular kind of bird.