“Are you all right?” she asked. “Why are you wearing your sword?”
Thomas didn’t answer either question. “I bought food.”
Eileen frowned. “You shouldn’t have gone out there.”
“No, I shouldn’t have,” agreed Thomas, “but I needed to see what was happening at the Academy. And since I was out…” he gestured to the table and the food piled high on it. “Is George up?”
“No.”
“Can you wake him?”
Eileen did, and while George wasn’t happy at all about it, his mood lightened considerably when he spied the tarts on the table. Thomas’s own appetite was gone, but he watched his friends dig into the food, only cautioning them to leave enough for Henry and Benjamin. Once they were full, he told them the news. Both went pale.
“So now we can’t even walk in the streets?” George asked, though they all knew the answer already. “We can’t even be seen?”
“Not during the day,” said Thomas. “And not together.”
“Then what do we do?” asked Eileen.
“We stay out of sight.” Thomas reached out and squeezed her hand. “As long as no one sees us, we’ll be all right.”
“Everyone’s already seen us,” George rose to his feet and pacing. “The students in the dormitory, the students here, the meat seller—”
Thomas snorted. “Bernard wouldn’t turn us in unless I insulted his cooking.”
George didn’t acknowledge the attempt at humour. “And everyone else?”
“The students won’t say anything,” Thomas assured him. “They hate the bishop right now.”
“How about the ones they took away? If they’re tortured…”
“They won’t torture them,” said Thomas, wondering if he was right even as the words left his mouth. “They’re under the king’s protection. They weren’t even supposed to arrest them. They can’t risk torture.”
“They still might,” George stopped pacing; he stood in the middle of the room, like a bear in a pit, wanting to run but finding no direction to go. “Maybe we should go away.”
“And do what?” demanded Thomas. “Run until he catches us? We’re better off here.”
“But what if they
do
come here?” asked Eileen. “What then?”
“We can escape across the roof, if we have to.”
“I don’t like it,” said George.
“Neither do I, but it’s all we can do!” The look on George’s face told Thomas his friend was ready to argue the point. Thomas forestalled him. “At least wait until Benjamin and Henry get back. We’ll find out what’s happened at the Academy and then make a decision. All right?”
George, his arms in front of his chest, brows low over his eyes, obviously didn’t like that idea either. Still, he said, “All right.”
“I think we should pack,” Eileen said getting up from her chair, “so we can run if we need to.”
Thomas nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
Eileen went into the bedroom and started packing clothes into her bag.
Thomas watched her through the door a moment, then turned back to George.
The big man was staring at his hands.
“You all right?” Thomas asked.
George didn’t look up. “I don’t like it here.”
“I know.”
“The city is too big, and the Academy…” He shook his head. “This isn’t a place for me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
George shook his head again. “Your friends seem all right, but half the time I don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Thomas smiled. “Half the time, neither do they.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” Thomas punched his friend lightly in the shoulder. “It will be all right.”
George sighed. “Eventually, I’m sure.” He raised his head, looked his friend in the eye. “Are we going to go home again, Thomas? Ever?”
It was Thomas’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know.”
“I thought as much.” George pushed himself to his feet. “Might as well get packed, then.”
Thomas joined him, and soon all three of their bags were packed and laid out in a corner of the room. With nothing else to do, George announced his intention of going back to sleep. He stayed in the common room, though, spreading himself out on a pile of pillows. Thomas and Eileen took over the bedroom and started going through the books. Eileen sat on the bed and read through the book of spells. Thomas sat at the desk, working his way through the books on the witch hunts.
They were a gruelling read; page after page of obscene acts and ideas, all attributed to witches and others who were declared to have “power beyond the natural order.” There were long, detailed, gruesome descriptions of rituals involving the abuse and sacrifice of animals and people. Thomas skimmed through those as quickly as he could, then found himself reading with absolute horror the prescribed ways of testing witches and gaining confessions of them. He read a bit further, and then shoved the book away with a grunt of disgust.
“What is it?” Eileen asked, glancing up from the book of magic.
“Obscene,” was Thomas’s reply. “It’s obscene and vile and disgusting.”
“Well, don’t bother sharing it with me,” Eileen warned. “I’d like to sleep tonight.”
“One of us should.” Thomas took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, “And since I’m not going to…” He opened the book and skimmed forward from the same point. Page upon page of the same stuff followed. It was all horrific and completely unhelpful. He reached the end of the chapter and stood up for a much-needed break. He stretched, feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back protest.
Eileen was still absorbed in the small book of spells that they had found. He leaned over her to look. “What do you think?”
Eileen shook her head. “I don’t know. I mean, they say they’re spells…”
“They all glow.”
“So
you
say.”
Thomas smiled. “Still think I’m insane?”
“Oh, aye,” Eileen said, smiling back. “But I’d like to believe you.”
Thomas nodded. “That’s the problem. If I could
show
you…”
Eileen raised her head, her eyes meeting his. Their faces were within inches of each other and Thomas almost took the moment to steal a kiss, but Eileen’s expression was serious, and her brow furrowed. She leaned back, setting the book down. Her tone was almost accusing when she said, “You want to try one.”
Thomas set the idea of kissing her aside, and nodded. “Aye.”
“You’re not serious!”
“Why do you think I took it?” Thomas asked. He stood up, rubbing his face to drive away the tired he felt. “I can see magic. I can
feel
it. If I can
do
magic as well, maybe I can find a way to undo what the bishop has done.”
“
If
you can make magic work,” said Eileen.
Thomas nodded. “Aye.”
“What if you can’t?”
Then I’m insane.
“Then I can’t. But I’ve got to try.”
Eileen took a long moment to think about it, then picked up the book again. “The first part is all little spells. You could try one of them, but most require ingredients.” She flipped the pages. “Like this one. ‘Spell to give one pleasant dreams and a restful sleep’. You need a candle, a pot of chamomile tea, and some violet petals to put under your pillow.” She snorted, “With all that, I doubt you’d even need a spell. Same with a lot of them, though I haven’t gotten to the nasty section, yet.”
“Which ones don’t need ingredients?”
Eileen paged through the book. “How’s this: ‘Spell to make lost objects found’?”
“I haven’t lost anything.”
“Oh. Well, ‘Spell to calm the mind’?”
“How would you know it worked?”
“True.” She paged some more. “Here, then. ‘Spell to make light from darkness’.”
“It’s not dark.”
“It will be if you close the shutters.”
“True enough.” Thomas reached up and closed the shutters tight, then pulled the tattered curtains across the window. Eileen handed Thomas the book, then got up and closed the door. The room wasn’t truly dark, but it was considerably dimmed. Thomas, looking down at the book in his hand, was suddenly very nervous. The thought that he might succeed was nearly as frightening as the idea that he might not. Eileen sat back on the bed, watching him.
The spell was very clear. All one had to do was close one’s eyes, and imagine a light appearing in one’s outstretched hands. The imagining had to be thorough, the book cautioned. One had to be able to see the light completely; to feel the warmth from it, and to imagine exactly what effect it would have on the room. After that, one outstretched one’s hand and placed the light there with one’s mind.
“Seems simple enough.” Thomas put down the book, sat on his chair and closed his eyes. He held out his hand and tried to concentrate. He couldn’t. He rolled his shoulders to let out some of the tension, then tried again. He still couldn’t concentrate. He opened his eyes. “I feel stupid.”
“No one’s here to see but me,” Eileen pointed out.
“And scared,” Thomas admitted. “I mean, if it works…”
“If it works,” Eileen repeated slowly, her own nervousness coming out with the words, “it works. We’ll worry about that if it happens. It’s only a light, after all.”
“So is a bonfire,” Thomas muttered. Still, he closed his eyes again.
It’s just another exercise
, he told himself.
Just another meditation.
Thomas realized he had no idea what sort of light he should call. Should the light be bright, dull, large, small? Should it be like the flame of a torch or the light of the sun? Should it fill the room or just his hand? The possibilities nearly overwhelmed him.
An image came suddenly to mind, bringing a catch to Thomas’s throat. He embraced it. After all, it worked for Timothy.
He went deep into himself, working hard to make the image perfect: A ball, blue with swirls of white, glowing without burning, and floating gently above his hand. He raised his arm and opened his hand.
At first, his mind rebelled. Try as he might, he could not get the image to go from the abstract to the concrete. It was as if his mind sensed the task was impossible. He began to sweat from the effort, even though all he was doing was thinking. Nagging doubts crept into his mind, and a voice somewhere in the back of his head told him that Henry was right; that he was insane and all he was going to do was prove it.
Thomas pushed the voice and all the other thoughts away, focusing on the image of the ball and putting every ounce of will power he had into the effort. Suddenly, there was a single, clear image, more real than anything he had seen in his life.
Eileen gasped, and from the sounds of it, fell off the bed. Thomas opened his eyes.
There, floating above the palm of his hand, just as it had on Timothy’s, was a small blue ball of light, shimmering and glowing, with streaks of white swirling inside it.
Thomas cried out in surprise, jumping away from the light and promptly falling to the floor. The ball of light winked out of existence.
“By the Father!” he gasped. “By all the Four!” He looked at Eileen. “Did you see that?”
“Aye,” Eileen was also on the floor, her body pushed back against a wall. Her voice was filled equally with fear and wonder. “Aye, I did.”
“It was real?”
“Aye.”
“By the Four,” Thomas whispered. “It worked!”
It was a long time before either of them moved or said anything else. Thomas was at once elated and terrified. When he managed to look at Eileen again, he could tell she was mostly feeling the latter. Thomas reached over to her and found her hand. She flinched away from him, not meeting his eyes.
“It’s all right,” Thomas said.
Eileen didn’t look at him.
“I can do magic.” He felt himself starting to grin like an idiot. “Real magic.”
She nodded, and this time her eyes came up to meet his. She still looked scared, but a hint of a smile was coming to her lips as well. “Aye,” she said, at last. “You can.”
Chapter 24
Late in the afternoon, a wave of noise rolled into the courtyard. Thomas and Eileen rushed to the balcony, nearly tripping over George, who was coming groggily awake and struggling to his feet. He joined them on the balcony a few moments later. Together, they watched a wave of students flowing into the courtyard. Their voices were animated and angry, but their swords were sheathed and no one was injured. Most stopped in the courtyard, talking furiously amongst themselves.
Henry and Benjamin broke free from the crowd and charged up the stairs. Thomas could barely control his impatience when they mounted to top stair and gestured the three inside. Both students looked at once exhausted and triumphant.
“News!” Benjamin trumpeted as soon as all of them were inside and the door was closed. “The bishop’s search was illegal! It was done without writ! The Master of Law and his faculty got all the students released this morning!”
“You should have heard the Principal’s speech,” Henry said, putting his sword down and taking up the wine. “He called us all together to voice his ‘annoyance’. He’s arming the gate guards, he’s locking all other entrances, and he’s denying the church collection rights until the bishop apologizes for the insult.”
“What about the students?” asked Thomas. “Did they riot?”
“Surprisingly enough, no,” Henry poured himself a rather full cup. “And now we know how the Master of Rhetoric got the job. I’ve never seen anyone talk so well so fast.”
“It was impressive,” said Benjamin. “He took over after the Principal and managed to get everyone’s outrage out into the open without sending them off to riot. As of now, no students will attend any other church except the one on the grounds, and no Theology students will work in the bishop’s house until he apologizes.” He reached under his robe and drew out a letter, a blot of black wax stamped with the Academy’s seal holding it shut. “We spent the rest of the day composing formal letters of protest to the king.”
“He will be receiving a thousand of them, hand delivered, tomorrow morning,” said Henry. “They’re going to make a march of it. Every student will hand-deliver his letter to the castle, and they’ll all walk by the bishop’s house on the way.”
“Though it may not do any good,” Benjamin reached over and took the bottle from Henry, then snagged one of the cups from the table. “The students who served there said he was half-packed already. He’ll be gone by tomorrow.”