Small Magics (11 page)

“Sadly true,” said the bishop. “Isn’t it, young Thomas?”

I will
not
start a fight at this table.
“Apparently, your Grace.”

“And what’s worse,” said John, “he was carrying a sword! And a duelling sword at that! That wretched school took my money and my son and sent back a vagrant and a brawler!”

The tension in the room was almost visible. Thomas had to struggle to catch his breath, the air felt so thick. The bishop looked unperturbed by it all. He sipped at his wine and surveyed the various faces in the room before turning to Thomas. “And what do you have to say about this?”

“I will admit to being threadbare,” Thomas said, keeping his eyes on his father. He forced himself to speak quietly. “And I will admit to carrying a sword. But I am not a vagrant and I am not a brawler.”

“Indeed?” The word rolled off the bishop’s tongue, and the condescension that came with it put Thomas’s teeth on edge. “Then how did you waste all your father’s money?”

Waste?
Thomas was starting to intensely dislike the man. “I didn’t waste it. I’m a student. I spent it on books.”

The bishop smiled and leaned closer, like a snake getting ready to strike. “And what sort of books do you read, young Thomas?”

“Philosophy, mostly.”

“Pagan philosophy, no doubt.”

“
Ancient
philosophy,” Thomas corrected.

“The ancients were pagans,” the bishop said. “They did not believe in the High Father or his gifts. They had their own, false gods.” He turned to the others at the table. “And here you see the root of the problem. The Academy teaches the young the supremacy of pagans over the teachings of the church!”

Thomas felt his teeth clenching. “No. The Academy uses ancient philosophy to teach us the importance of logic and reason, not—”

“And they teach it to be more important than belief in the High Father!”

“No—”

“The ancients gave man nothing. The High Father gave man the world!”

“The ancients gave us philosophy to help us understand the world,” snapped Thomas, giving up on being polite. “And words to describe it!”

“Hubris!”

“Like that one, which means the arrogance of comparing oneself to the gods.”

Bishop Malloy, mouth opening to say more, stopped, then closed it. Thomas took some brief satisfaction as he watched the man’s brows come together and his eyes narrow. When the bishop spoke again, his tone was once more calm and no less contemptuous. “You parrot your teachers admirably.”

Thomas inclined his head graciously. “As do you.”

“Thomas!” His father’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “You will apologize to the bishop at once!”

The bishop did not look offended to Thomas. If anything, he looked ready to attack. Thomas bowed his head to his father anyway. “As you wish—”

“Do not bother,” the bishop said. He leaned back in his chair and sipped at his wine again. “After all, my teachers were servants of the High Father. To say that I speak after their manner is high praise indeed. You, on the other hand, speak after the manner of poor, worldly men who do not know to what depths they sink.”

Pompous, pretentious, self-serving…
“Perhaps we should move to another topic, as this one seems to be distressing my father—”

“Oh, I don’t think that the topic is distressing your father. I think it is your sorry state and sad lack of respect that is distressing him.” He turned to John Flarety. “
Is that not so, John Flarety?
”

Thomas nearly jumped out of his seat. The bishop’s voice had become deep and commanding, filling the room with its power just as it had done in John Flarety’s study the day before.

“Indeed it is,” said John Flarety. “The lad was brought up well enough by his mother and I, but these four years away from home have been the ruin of him. Still, he’ll not be traveling away anymore.”

“What?” Madeleine Flarety’s head snapped around to her husband. “What do you mean?”

“
Tell them,
” said the bishop, smiling at Thomas. His voice rolled through the room like a wave, buffeting Thomas with its strength.

“What did you just do?” Thomas demanded, staring at the bishop.

The bishop tilted his head and put on a puzzled expression. His voice was perfectly normal when he said, “I beg your pardon?”

“Your voice,” said Thomas. “You did something with your voice when you spoke to my father.”

The bishop’s head straightened and the smile on his face changed from just unfriendly to almost feral. “Indeed.”

“Thomas!” John Flarety barked. “Don’t talk nonsense!”

Thomas turned to his father. The man was red in the face. “But I heard it,” Thomas said. “Didn’t you—”

“I heard no such thing, nor did anyone else!”

“The lad apparently thinks that he did,” the bishop said, his smile widening. “Or perhaps he is just making an excuse for ignoring his father.
Why don’t you finish, John Flarety?”

The power oozing off the words nearly made Thomas sick. He looked for some sign that the others at the table were feeling the same, but no one else seemed at all disturbed. It was as if they hadn’t noticed; as if no one else had heard anything different. They were all just watching Thomas’s father, waiting for him to speak.

“You will not be returning to the Academy after this summer,” Thomas’s father said. “I’ll not have you study there anymore.”

Thomas felt the world open up beneath him; felt himself plummeting from a great height, though he hadn’t moved at all. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“But… you can’t—”

“Can’t?” John Flarety’s face turned beet-red. His voice doubled in volume. “Can’t! How dare you! How dare you speak to me in that way!”

“I’m three years from finishing my studies!”

“I don’t care!” The man’s fist thundered down onto the table, making his glass jump and tip and the last of his wine splash in a blood red stain on the tablecloth. John Flarety shoved his chair back and came to his feet. “You will not argue with me in front of my guests! Go to your chambers!”

“My chambers?” Thomas was on his own feet, now. “I don’t even know if I live here any more!”

“Thomas, please,” his mother was at his side, taking his elbow.

“No!” He pulled away from her and advanced on his father. “I have worked hard at the Academy! I have—”

His father banged the table again. “You have disgraced us!”

“How?” demanded Thomas. “By studying the law like you wanted? By learning other languages?” He looked frantically around the room. The guests were still in their chairs, their faces frozen in expressions of embarrassment and concern. Thomas’s brother was coming around the table at high speed. The bishop was sipping his wine again. Thomas rounded on him. “What in the Names of the Four is going on here?”

Neal grabbed his arm, started pulling him backwards. “Thomas, come.”

Thomas fought to stay in place, to face his father again. “Every letter you wrote said how pleased you were with my work at the Academy! You were raving about the improvements I could bring to the business and how much you enjoyed hearing about my philosophy classes and would I send you a copy of one of my books! You said you wanted me to come home so you could show me off!”

“That was before I learned that the Academy was making you into a drunk and a reprobate!”

“Says who?!”

“
Enough, John Flarety.
” The bishop’s voice stopped John like a leash on a running dog. “Let the boy go from the table. I will speak to him later, to calm his mind.”

The last thing Thomas saw before Neal hauled him from the room was the bishop, his eyes on Thomas, his face twisted in a smug smile, and his hand on John Flarety’s shoulder.

Chapter 5

“What in the name of the Banished is going on?” demanded Thomas, throwing himself out of his brother’s grip.

“Calm yourself,” Neal said. He took after their father physically and surely had no fear of being overpowered. Even so, he stayed back as Thomas paced back and forth through the kitchen.

“Calm myself? Calm myself?! ‘Your life is ruined, good-night.’ How am I supposed to calm myself?”

“You can start by taking control of your tongue,” his mother said from the door of the kitchen. She sighed. “You may have my build, but you’ve certainly got his temper.”

“Mother, when was it decided I was leaving the Academy?”

“I don’t know.” She closed the door, found one of the kitchen stools, and sank down onto it. “I gave him a piece of my mind after he sent you away yesterday. And another when he decided you should stay at the inn. He avoided me all night then spent all morning with the bishop. I didn’t see him until lunch. And then he was grumbling about how you looked and the Academy and did I think you should be there and how could you wear a sword in our house—where is that sword by the way?”

“At George’s.”

“Good place for it. No need to wear it, I say—”

“
Mother…
”

“Sorry. Well, after that he’s back with the bishop for the entire afternoon. I didn’t see him until he came down for dinner.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

“No, he didn’t, and a good thing, too. I was angry enough already. I wasn’t going to have him spoil your homecoming.” She sighed again. “Well, he did it anyway.”

Thomas found another stool and collapsed onto it. None of it made any sense to him. “I thought he was proud of me.”

“He was,” said Neal. “Right up until yesterday. When you wrote that you were going to walk home, first he gets all huffy about how you should ride upriver instead. The next thing you know he’s down at the tavern bragging how his youngest would rather walk home than make his father spend an extra penny.”

“Well, he certainly didn’t think that way yesterday.”

“I don’t understand it, either,” Madeleine said. “It’s nothing to do with the money. He has your tuition and expenses saved up for the next three years, and enough money to start you on as an apprentice in any trade you want, from lawyer to doctor to instructor at the Academy.”

Thomas put his head in his hands. Half of him wanted to weep about it and the other half wanted to scream. “Did either of you notice anything tonight?” he asked without looking up. “About the bishop’s voice changing, I mean.”

“How do you mean, changing?” asked his mother. “I heard you at the table, but it made no sense.”

“His voice changed,” Thomas said. “I’m sure of it. It was deeper and louder and… almost tangible. As if you could almost see it moving through the air.”

“I didn’t even hear him change his tone,” said Neal. He grinned suddenly. “Though I thought he would explode over that parroting comment.”

Thomas’s head came out of his hands. “He started it.”

“And you certainly finished it,” said Madeleine. She raised a hand to forestall Thomas’s reply. “Understandable, though. He certainly has a dislike for the Academy.”

“He hates it!” Thomas snorted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he put all that rubbish about the Academy into Father’s head.”

There was a knock, then the kitchen door opened and Gavin stepped in. He sounded almost apologetic as he said, “Your husband has asked that you accompany the bishop and himself down to the Fire.”

“His Grace is attending?” asked Thomas.

“His Grace is giving the blessing,” Neal said. “And a jolly speech it will be, I’m sure.”

“His Grace is also introducing the new priest to his congregation tonight,” Madeleine reminded her eldest son as she rose to her feet. “And don’t you speak down about him, either. He’s still the bishop. Now, hurry along and get your cloak. You too, Thomas.”

“Master Thomas is to remain,” Gavin said. “His father wishes him to be in his room tonight. In prayer.”

“On Fire Night?” Shock filled Madeleine’s voice.

“In prayer?” Neal sounded no less surprised. “When did father start advocating prayer?”

“It is his order,” said Gavin. “Also, his Grace has offered to return here after he has spoken at the ceremony, to help Thomas face his spiritual crisis.”

“What spiritual crisis?” Thomas demanded.
And when DID father start advocating prayer?

“If Thomas isn’t going to Fire Night, you can be certain that we won’t be either,” Madeleine said. She put her hands on her hips and glared past Gavin down the hallway. “And neither will John if I have to hold him here by the ears.”

Thomas shook his head, “Mother—”

She turned on him. “If he thinks—”

“Mother, please!” Thomas rose from his stool. “Go to Fire Night. Take Neal. I’ll be fine here.”

Madeleine looked unconvinced. “You shouldn’t be alone on your first night home.”

Thomas managed a smile. “Don’t worry. His Grace is coming back to keep me company.”

“You should be with your family.”

“Mum, please. Just go.”

“Madeleine! Neal!” His father’s voice rang through the hallways. “We have to leave. Now!”

Madeleine looked back at Thomas, then gave him a quick hug and stepped away. “I’ll talk to your father,” she said. “I promise.”

Neal waited until Madeleine and Gavin had left the room before he turned to his younger brother. “So, what are you really going to do?”

Thomas looked him straight in the eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Neal snorted. “Right. Don’t get caught.”

Thomas forced another smile. “I’ll be back before the fire dies down. I promise.”

“Don’t promise,” Neal said. “Just keep yourself safe.” He headed for the door, then turned and added, “And don’t trip over anyone in the woods on your way back, either.”

Thomas watched him go. The guests’ voices faded and the sound of the front door closing rang through the house. Thomas waited, listening. No sound came. He turned heel and headed for the back door. It was only a short walk to George’s house, and he had to change before he went to the fire.

***

Everyone from the town was on the commons, readying themselves for Fire Night.

Thomas moved quietly through the crowd, giving polite greetings to those who recognized him, but doing his best to not draw attention. No one had been home at George’s house, but the door was unlocked as usual. The clothes Thomas had worn that day had been sitting, folded, on the mat he’d used as a bed. He’d changed into them as fast as he could and headed for the town commons.