Small Magics (5 page)

“I saw a creature, carrying plunder, From a raiding foray, to his home, To set up a bower at the top of a tower, In a fortress tall, he would go.

Then came a creature, from over the tower, Familiar to all in the world, It snatched away his plunder, and drove the wretch yonder Far from his path he was hurled.”

The audience turned almost as one back towards the juggler. Timothy stood centre stage, legs wide, arms crossed, with one hand holding his chin. “A good one, that!” he said, scratching at his beard. “Though hardly a difficult one.”

“Then answer it!” called someone from the crowd.

Timothy grinned. “I will! It is a bird and the wind!”

Thomas nodded. “It is.”

The crowd applauded and cheered. Timothy took another bow. “Well, then,” he said, “I am not so scholarly, but I have one that will stump you. Tell me:

“A strange thing hangs by the thigh of a man, Under its master’s cloak, Stiff and hard and pierced through the front, It waits for the man to raise up his robe, For then the head of the hanging thing Will be poked into a hole of matching length, Where it has often been poked before!”

Catcalls and chuckles followed the juggler’s riddle, and all eyes went to Thomas. “Well, Scholar?” the juggler asked, “What could this strange thing be?”

Thomas looked at his friends. Eileen was blushing and giggling. George was laughing. Thomas shook his head, and smiled at Eileen. “Well, there is only one thing that rises up in my mind—” The crowd roared and Eileen looked at the ground, her blush turning bright red. “—and that would be a key.”

“Aye! That it is!” the juggler crowed. He shook a finger at his audience. “And shame on the rest of you!” The crowd laughed louder. “Your turn, Scholar, if you can come up with another one!”

Thomas struggled to think of another riddle; something Timothy wouldn’t know. The problem was that the juggler probably knew every riddle ever told by the hearth and some that weren’t. The chances of Thomas thinking of something the little man had not heard before were slim indeed.

If he stuck with riddles.

“Sword and axe, but not of steel; Teeth and claw, but not of bone. Leaf and vine, but not of wood; Wall and tower, but not of stone. Ever on guard, ever sleeping; Beyond all pain, ever weeping.”

The crowd went completely silent and furrowed brows appeared throughout. Beside him, Thomas could see the blank expressions on Eileen and George. Timothy was staring, open-mouthed. Thomas casually folded his arms and waited.

The crowd’s eyes were riveted on Timothy. The juggler stood a moment longer, then began pacing back and forth. He pursed his lips. He swung his arms. He opened his mouth only to close it again. He took off his hat and scratched his head. The tension built with every passing moment. Finally, Timothy stopped where he was and raised one hand. “Right!” he said. “I have no idea at all!”

A laugh rippled through the crowd, and all eyes swivelled expectantly back to Thomas. Cries of “What’s the answer?” rang out.

“Well, Scholar?” asked Timothy. “What is it?”

“It is the poet Beothin’s description of the tomb of King Adolphus of Perthia,” said Thomas, “which has a stone carving of the king, standing as if on guard, sword and axe in hand, surrounded by the grape vines of the region, standing over the body of the dragon he slew, weeping tears for the loss of his love. And behind him, inlaid in brass, is the castle of Grenvillis, where he died.”

The entire crowd stared, dumbfounded.

“You learned this at the Academy?” ventured Timothy.

“Aye.”

“And is this knowledge considered useful or not?”

“Completely useless,” said Thomas, with a deep bow. “Until now.”

Timothy stared, agape, then burst out laughing. A chuckle ran through the crowd, then applause—led by George, Thomas noticed. Timothy called out, “The scholar wins!”

The crowd roared and clapped, and Timothy waited until the noise died down before continuing. “And since I have been beaten, I must now do something to redeem myself! Something impressive! Something exciting! Something far better than riddles! Ladies and gentlemen, today I will show you something that few in our days have ever seen! I shall show you
true magic!
”

The crowd’s attention was on the juggler again. Thomas turned to George and Eileen. “Come on. Let’s get the tailor and get going.”

“Wait!” called Timothy. “Don’t leave, young Scholar! I need your help!” He made shooing motions at the crowd between them. “Make way, make way! Let our young scholar approach the stage.”

Thomas stood where he was, uncertain. He really wanted nothing more than to leave, but all eyes were on him and the juggler was gesturing him forward.

“Come, Scholar!” said Timothy. “We must have the opinion of someone with wisdom.”

Thomas shook his head. “I have no wisdom. And I need—”

“No wisdom?” said the juggler, grasping his chest and miming shock. “What does one go to school for, if not wisdom?”

The crowd waited expectantly. Thomas sighed.
Trapped again
.

“Knowledge,” said Thomas, walking through the crowd towards the stage. “One goes to school for knowledge.”

“Well, if we can’t have wisdom, then knowledge will certainly do.” Timothy grinned broadly at the crowd. “Now, Master Thomas Flarety, student of the Academy, source of all knowledge, have you ever seen magic?”

“Everyone has seen magic,” said Thomas, reaching the stage.

“Everyone has seen sleight of hand,” corrected Timothy. “Everyone has seen a flower appear out of the air for a pretty girl.” He flourished his wrist, and a flower appeared in his hand. He tossed it just behind Thomas. “A blossom for a blossom,” Timothy said with a wink. Thomas looked over his shoulder and saw Eileen and George right behind him.

“But not all magic is trickery!” The juggler raised his voice, gathering in more passers-by as his words filled the fair. “The High Father who watches over us all has three who watch with him: The Loyal Consort, who stands by his side and helps those in need and who gathers us in when our time has past. The Rebel Son, who gave man the gifts of knowledge and invention, and suffered great torment before his Father forgave him.” He looked at Thomas. “Who is the fourth, Scholar?”

“The Blessed Daughter,” Thomas said, wondering where Timothy was going. “Giver of poetry and music.”

“And magic!” said Timothy. “True magic!”

The crowd drew closer, forcing Thomas and his friends right against the stage. The juggler took off his hat and placed it on the stage. His jacket and shirt followed a moment later. “Fear not, ladies,” he said with a wink, as he took his time folding his shirt. “I’ll not offend your eyes by removing more. I just wanted the Scholar here to be certain that I had nothing up my sleeve.”

He knelt on the stage before Thomas. “Now look, young Scholar. Look closer than you’ve ever looked before. Your friends as well.” He extended his right hand, low enough for them to watch, but high enough for the audience to see easily as well. “Look at my hand, lads and lassie. I’ll show you a trick you’ll never see again.”

Thomas cast a doubting glance up at the juggler’s glee-filled face then turned his attention back to the man’s hand. On either side, George and Eileen leaned in close. The little man’s eyes narrowed and his breathing became deep and even.

Timothy passed his left hand above his right, and a glowing ball of light appeared in the palm of his right hand.

The light shone turquoise blue, and swirled around itself, giving the ball its shape. It could almost have been a jewel, but the outer edges seemed fuzzy, as though they were fading into the air rather than ending. Timothy rose to his feet and raised his hand higher. The entire crowd leaned forward to look.

“And now,” said Timothy, raising his empty hand above the one with the ball, “Allee-oop!”

The ball leapt from his palm into the air. The crowd gasped.

Timothy kept the ball floating between his hands, and raised it slowly until it floated just below his eye level. Slowly, the ball began to spin in place. Timothy let it alone for a time, then with a gesture from his left hand, made the ball start orbiting first around his right hand, then his arm. All the time he kept his left hand close, as though he expected the ball to fly away and needed to be ready to catch it. He raised his hands higher, and the ball whirled around above his head. He tilted his face up to the sky and the ball’s orbit shrank smaller and smaller until, finally, it spun in place just above the tip of his nose.

“Witchcraft!” whispered someone, their voice carrying through the silent, staring crowd. “It’s witchcraft!”

The little ball slowed its rotation then gently came to a stop. Timothy knelt slowly, keeping his hands on either side of the hovering ball. The crowd leaned forward even further.

Suddenly Timothy’s hands clapped above the ball, making it disappear in a flash of light and silvery powder. The crowd gasped collectively then everyone started clamouring at once. Some were cheering the trick, others demanding to know how it was done. The whisper of witchcraft became a shout, and soon it was coming from a half-dozen throats. Timothy stayed where he was, hands high, watching. Arguments began to break out, and an ugly tension began to build.

Timothy’s high, ridiculing laugh cut through the noise. He pulled himself to his feet and walked to the front of the stage. He continued laughing as he pulled on his shirt, then his jacket. The entire crowd was staring at him now.

Timothy waited a moment longer before asking, “What’s the matter with you lot?”

“Witchcraft!” shouted one man from the back. “You’re using witchcraft!”

“Witchcraft?” Timothy laughed again, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. “What sort of a fool notion is that?” He turned to Thomas. “Scholar! Did you hear what they said? Witchcraft!” He shook his head. “Tell me, in the opinions of the knowledgeable is there even such a thing as witchcraft?”

Thomas was staring wide-eyed at the juggler. He could feel the eyes of the crowd boring into the back of his head, could see Timothy’s relaxed, amused expression. Timothy winked and smiled, waiting for his answer.

“No,” said Thomas, slowly. He stopped, unsure for a moment, then repeated loud enough for everyone to hear, “No. Though witchcraft is still on the laws of the Church of the High Father as dealing with the Banished for powers beyond what man should have, and though the church holds it to be a grievous sin, in the opinion of the knowledgeable, there’s no such thing as witchcraft.”

“Well, there you have it,” crowed Timothy, pointing to Thomas. “See? No such thing!”

“Then what was that?” demanded the same man from the back. “What did we see if not witchery?”

Timothy pursed his lips and put a hand to his mouth as though thinking, then opened his lips wide. A turquoise-blue ball seemed to come out of his mouth and into his hand. He held it up for all to see. The ball was painted with lighter swirls, and coated with many layers of shellac, so that the ball shone in the light, almost as if glowing from within, and the edges seemed to fade into nothing. With a derisive laugh, he threw it down on the stage, putting force into it. The ball hit with a loud
crack
and bounced back up. He caught it, covered it with his hands then pulled them apart. The ball floated in the air between, and this time Timothy turned his hands to show them the thin threads that held it to his fingers.

“A fine trick, isn’t it?” he asked. He caught the ball and put it into his jacket. “It gets them every time, it does.
And I got you all but good!
”

A sheepish groan ran through the audience, followed with applause and cheering.

“And let that be a lesson to you all!” Timothy shouted. “Don’t believe everything you see, for you never know when you might be fooled!” He made a showy gesture with his hands, then smoke puffed out from the stage and he vanished. The crowd gasped and surged forward again until those in the front pointed out the trap door. A few moments later the crowd broke up, leaving Thomas and his two friends standing at the edge of the stage.

“Well,” said George, grinning, “he certainly had me going for a while there. I thought he really did have magic or something. Didn’t you?”

“Or something,” agreed Eileen. She turned her attention to Thomas. “Well, I’ll bet that made you forget your troubles for a while, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Thomas was still staring at the stage. “Yes, it did.” He shook his head, forcing himself out of his reverie. “It really did. We’ve got to grab the tailor.” He started scanning the crowd. “The offer for supper at the tavern is still open, if you like.”

“Oh, we like,” said George.

“Indeed we do,” agreed Eileen, “though you’ll have to mind George doesn’t eat you out of all your pocket money.”

Thomas nodded absently and turned his eyes to the crowd, searching for the tailor. His thoughts were still with the little man on the stage. He had seen many magicians in the city. They performed on street-corners for change thrown from the crowd. One night, he’d even managed to get one to teach him several tricks.

Thomas had never taken his eyes off Timothy. Even while the crowd was getting boisterous and angry, Thomas had kept watching the little man, hoping for some clue that would show him how Timothy had done the trick.

Which is why Thomas, paying attention to the man’s hands when no one else was, saw Timothy slip the little blue wooden ball out of his jacket pocket
after
the trick was over.

Chapter 3

The tailor, whose name was Alistair and who told Thomas to address him as such, please, insisted on taking them all to the pastry stand in honour of Thomas’s victory. Thomas, now quite hungry, hadn’t argued, and the three munched on blueberry jam pies as the tailor led them to his shop. A suit for Master Thomas? Oh, yes, of course. His father had already brought the fabric and paid for the work. If Thomas would just accompany him back to the shop…?

“He already paid for it?” asked Thomas, following in step beside the tailor.

“Indeed. He came in not two weeks ago, bringing fabric from his own warehouse, and mighty nice fabric at that. And he ordered boots to match, though the cobbler said he needed your foot size first, since he hasn’t measured you since you were fourteen—he’s at home by now, so you should drop by him next. Your father said it was to honour your work at the Academy.”