Thief’s Magic (9 page)

“Well then,” Miko said as he and Tyen finished their meals. “If you’re well enough for dinner, you’re well enough to do some labelling and cataloguing.”

Neel winced. “I…”

“I think we can let him have another night off,” Tyen said firmly, kicking his friend under the table. “One for recovery, one in lieu of an apology.”

Miko looked as if he might argue, then sighed and got to his feet. “All right. Only one night, though,” he told Neel, then jabbed a thumb in Tyen’s direction and grinned. “After that you start owing me for leaving me stuck alone with him.”

“Hey!” Tyen protested as he stood up.

Neel managed a smile, and made a shooing motion. “Off with you. The sooner you get there, the less work for me to come back to.”

Grabbing Miko’s elbow, Tyen guided him out of the dining room before he decided to drag Neel along anyway. They made their way through the Academy to the collections wing, where Professor Kilraker was waiting for them in the storeroom allocated to him on his return.

“Neel still sick?” Kilraker asked, his thin eyebrows lowering in concern.

“Reckons he is,” Miko replied.

“Yes,” Tyen added. “Not as ill as last night, but his digestion is still uneasy.”

Kilraker shrugged and gestured to two boxes on a nearby table. “Well, there’s not much left to record so the two of you should get through most of it tonight.” He opened the first of the boxes and they began unwrapping the contents. All of the items were spherical and etched with ancient writing and pictures – versions of the same kind of artefact Miko had kept and sold. Some were wooden, some clay, some stone, and a few were made of precious metals.

“Strange,” Kilraker said as he dug through the remaining packing material in the box. “I was sure there was another gold one.”

“Not this one?” Miko said, picking up another, plainer, gold poible.

Kilraker shook his head. “I recall a fancier one. I hope it wasn’t mislaid or fell out during our rushed exit.”

“Didn’t Drem drop a box at one point? Neel said something about it.”

Kilraker narrowed his eyes at Miko. “No.”

Miko ducked his head and lowered his eyes. “I didn’t mean to suggest that Drem was clumsy. He is nothing less than the most competent servant.”

The sharpness in the professor’s gaze eased. “I will ask him if he recalls a gold poible. Possibly he—” A knock interrupted him. Looking up at the storeroom door, he waved at the poibles, boxes, labels, measuring devices, catalogue and pen on the table and stood up. “Make a start.”

Tyen pulled the catalogue and pen over while Miko picked up the most humble of the poibles, made from crumbling unfired clay. The storeroom door clicked open. Hearing a familiar voice, Tyen glanced over his shoulder. Professor Delly, the head of the sorcery department, stepped into the room.

“Number two-oh-nine,” Miko said. “Clay poible.” Tyen added the details to the catalogue book.

Miko started to measure the diameter with a calliper and in the pause Tyen heard the professors speaking.

“… could be proof of our theory,” Kilraker was saying.

“Could be. Could be,” Delly agreed.

“We should keep this to ourselves for now. Others might seek to destroy the evidence.”

“You mean … the radicals?”

Kilraker’s reply was lost behind Miko’s reading of the poible’s measurements. Tyen wrote them down, all the while straining his ears to hear more of the professors’ conversation.

“… what they believe.”

Delly sounded puzzled. “But why would they—?” Miko dragged the scales closer, the noise drowning out more of the conversation.

Kilraker’s voice grew louder. “If magic from these other worlds could be tapped, the rebels’ hatred of the machines will be seen for what it is: fear of modernity and envy of the wealth earned by innovation.”

“It weighs nine and three-quarter plats,” Miko said. He held out the poible. “You should draw the designs. You’re much better at it than me.”

Tyen took the clay artefact and began copying a diagram of one side, taking care to record the words and pictures accurately. Miko leaned closer.

“That night at the Anchor Inn, Kilraker and Gowel had a fight over the ideas those two are talking about now,” he murmured. “Gowel said we should turn a few machines off and see what happens to the magical atmosphere in the city and I swear steam came out of Kilraker’s ears. I reckon Gowel’s become a radical.”

Tyen looked at his friend. Miko’s expression was serious – an unusual enough occurrence that he looked strangely unfamiliar. From across the room they heard Kilraker make a sound of disgust.

“I’d rather destroy it myself than let it fall into their hands.”

“Well, there will be no need for us to go to those extremes, I assure you,” Delly said in reply.

Silence followed and as it began to lengthen Tyen could not help imagining the two professors watching him and Miko, wondering how much they could hear. He kept the pen moving over the page, completing the diagram of the poible’s other side. He blew on the ink and turned the page.

“Number two-one-oh,” Miko said, reaching for another poible.

The door closed softly behind them, then a single set of footsteps drew nearer. Tyen glanced back to see Kilraker walking towards them, his face creased by a scowl. The professor met Tyen’s eyes and his expression softened.

“The war of ideas is as dangerous as those waged with weapons and magic,” he told them as he sat down. “As many, if not more, lives are at stake. We must be diligent in our stance against lies and superstition.” Drawing the other box closer, he began to unpack its contents.

O
n the following Market Day, Tyen and Miko woke to find Belton blanketed in one of the impenetrable fogs that the city was famous for.

Apologies, Vella
, Tyen thought as he picked up the book.
Even if I made myself go out in this there’s nothing outdoors you could see and with the ferries not running most industries will be understaffed and not willing to indulge a student of the Academy with a tour of their premises.

“What’ll we do?” Miko wondered aloud, peering out of the small window of their room. He was leaning on Tyen’s desk, his hand perilously close to a row of fragile varnished paper wings.

“I’m planning to make some more insectoids, if you don’t break them first, then study.”

Miko looked down and withdrew his hand. His eyes slid to Vella. “Study, eh? I know what you’ll be studying. You hardly do anything else.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t study as much now – proper study, not reading that book.” Miko frowned. “That’s not like you.”

Tyen raised an eyebrow at his friend. “It’s not like you to worry about how much work I’m doing.”

Miko’s frown vanished. “No.” Then he crossed his arms. “She’s giving you an unfair advantage.”

Tyen shook his head. “Not as much as you’d think. The information she has is old so I have to check everything before I submit an essay or do an experiment.” Was Miko jealous? He smiled at his friend. “Is there anything I can ask about for you?”

But Miko didn’t appear to have heard Tyen’s reply. He was frowning again. “Can’t believe I called it a ‘she’,” he said, shaking his head. “And you. It’s like she’s your girl. Like you’re in love with her. With a book. Mad.” He shook his head and turned to the door. “Well, I’m off to the library. The Bonnets finally got permission to use it whenever they want.”

Tyen smiled. The more determined female students were known by the old-fashioned head covering they’d adopted to reassure the Matrons that their need to visit the library was based on scholarly interest, not access to the male students.

“Don’t give the Academy reason to change their mind. The girls will never forgive you.”

“I won’t,” Miko assured him.

The glint of mischief in his eyes did not inspire confidence. Tyen sighed as the door closed behind his friend. Knowing his luck, Miko would be back soon, evicted from the library for being a nuisance.

Perhaps I should talk to Vella first.

He moved to the bed and sat down, pushing the pillow up between his back and the headboard. Opening the cover, he held his breath and waited for words to appear.

Hello, Tyen. Don’t be disappointed. The weather can’t be helped, and you’ve taught me a great deal these last few weeks. Perhaps I can teach you something instead today.

You’ve taught me plenty already, and I’ve had enough of sorcery and history lessons this week. It’s Market Day. We should talk about something else.

Is there anything else you would like to know about?

Tyen’s mind immediately returned to the conversation he’d overheard between Professors Kilraker and Delly.

You’ve said before that there are other worlds. How many have you visited?

One thousand, six hundred and forty-nine.

You know
exactly
how many?

Yes. My purpose is to record information, so it is not hard for me to keep track.

Was Roporien the only one who took you between worlds?

No, he occasionally loaned me to a trusted sorcerer, and I was stolen once. After Roporien died I remained in this world, however. None of my owners were capable of travelling between them.

Did you spend much time in each world?

Sometimes weeks, sometimes mere moments. Unlike most other sorcerers, Roporien could move between worlds as easily as walking between rooms.

Are there any worlds that are more important than others?

That depends on what you consider important. Everyone’s birth world or world of their childhood has an emotional importance for them, even if the reasons are unpleasant. The most important worlds for the sorcerers who moved between them were those that contained the strongest magic. They made those worlds their home, and ruled empires from them. Whether those worlds are important today depends on whether those sorcerers still live, or still want to live there.

Still live?
Tyen’s heart skipped. Vella was more than six hundred years old.
Do you mean there are more sorcerers like Roporien, who did not age?

Yes.

How many?

I do not know. A few thousand, perhaps.

So many.

And yet very few, when you consider how many people there must be in all the worlds. Each world might contain many, many millions of people. Of them, perhaps one person each century might be able to preserve their body, but few survive long enough to learn the secret of agelessness. The life of a sorcerer is often a dangerous one, and the techniques of halting ageing are not always shared freely.

Surely if a sorcerer was that strong, nothing could harm them.

They may be ageless, but no one and nothing is invulnerable, and when someone is powerful they tend to mix with or become people who have dominance over others. The probability that someone wishes to harm them is very much higher.

Tyen shivered. He was fortunate, then, that he lived in this world and wasn’t as strong as these sorcerers. The greatest danger he faced was to end up in a boring machine operator job. Perhaps that was why so few powerful sorcerers had ever come to his world. Other worlds might be more dangerous, but they’d also be more exciting.

So why might a sorcerer no longer want to live in the worlds they considered important?

Worlds can change. Empires fall eventually, no matter how powerful their rulers. Land can become infertile or turn to desert from over-harvesting or changes in weather. Some worlds have seasons that last centuries, so people may flourish then starve in turns. Some worlds grow slowly colder, warmer, drier, wetter. Plagues, creatures and plants may be introduced that make a world less liveable. Resources that made a world wealthy may run out. Wars may cast it into ruins or empty it of magic. I know of three worlds that were devastated by huge rocks that fell from the sky, and another that shook until the land split apart and bled molten stone. There are legends of worlds that disappeared, only an airless void or searing light at the end of the paths that led to them.

Path?
Tyen’s imagination painted a shining ribbon with travellers walking back and forth. Could such a route be wide enough for a carriage?
Do people make roads between the worlds?

Not in the way you imagine. You don’t physically
walk
the paths between worlds, but transit leaves an impression, like the tracks worn in turf from the traffic of many feet. When used frequently and recently, the paths stay clear. Unused, they slowly fade, like a road disappearing as vegetation on either side grows back over the surface.

Or magic flowing in to replace Soot?

Yes, tracks are very much like the absence of magic. Some believe it is the same effect.

There could be tracks leading to this world, or away from it, Tyen realised. But only if sorcerers travelled here often enough. Surely, if any had, it would have been so incredible that everyone would know of it. Or, at least, the Academy would.

It is more likely those sorcerers do not make their abilities known to others. Or they do only to those who agree to keep their presence a secret.

Why would they do that?

To be left in peace – to live in this world without everyone treating them differently. Fame can be very inconvenient, even dangerous.

He considered his earlier doubts that this world would be an appealing place for such sorcerers.
I suppose they might come here to hide from those who would harm them.

Perhaps. But not the ageless ones. It requires plentiful magic. This is not a powerful world – even less so now than when I last saw it.

This world is growing weaker?

Yes.

Are you sure?

Yes.

What proof do you have of that?

Soot never used to linger as it does now.