Doubleborn (9 page)

Sam came in and sat opposite her. The rushes and herbs on the floor bunched up where he dragged his chair.

“Were you there,” he asked, “when Flaxfield sealed her up in the castle?”

“No. Not there. But not far away. It wasn’t just Flaxfield who did it. There were others.”

Sam held his breath. This was one of those moments when Flaxfold was ready to tell him something. That’s the way of wizards. They wait for the right time. A weaver’s apprentice might learn to thread the shuttle, to comb the wool, to fangle the loom, all in the same order. Always the same. With a wizard’s apprentice, the knowledge comes differently, at the apprentice’s time, not the teacher’s. Sam sensed that Flaxfold thought it was time.

“There was Waterburn,” she said. “Only no one called him that. We called him Cabbage. And there was the girl. The one the magic was stolen from.”

“What was her name?”

“Ah, now there’s a question. He stole her magic by stealing her name. She’s got a new name now.”

“What’s her new name?” asked Sam.

Flaxfold thought about this for a long time.

“People have to tell you their names themselves,” she said at last. “I expect you’ll find out if it’s ever the right time.”

“How can I do anything if you don’t tell me things?” he objected.

“There’s nothing like finding things out for yourself,” she said. “And there was Perry, the roffle.”

“Roffles don’t have magic,” said Sam.

“No. They don’t. But they’re roffles. And there was a woman, Dorwin. Between them they sealed the castle. They all played their part.”

“Where are they now?”

Flaxfold put down her pen and rested her arms on the table.

“It was years ago,” she said. “Houses have been built and fallen since then.”

“You remember it, though.”

“I’m a very old wizard. Remember?”

Sam’s hand slid round the leather cord and found the weight at his throat. He stroked it to help him think.

“I want to find Tamrin,” he said. “I want to ask her what she knows about me. I want to know who she is.”

“Then perhaps you should.”

“I don’t know where to look.”

“Didn’t the roffle help?”

Sam kicked the leg of the table.

“He told me to look for the tailor.”

Flaxfold picked up the pen and doodled a pair of scissors. Sam watched. She put the pen down and smiled. He waited. Wizards don’t doodle aimlessly.

“How many things is that?” she asked Sam.

“One.”

“Name it.”

“Scissors.”

“Scissor?”

“Scissors.”

“Two scissors.”

“A pair of scissors.”

“So,” she said. “It’s two things.”

“It’s one thing. It’s scissors.”

“One thing is two things. You can’t have a scissor.”

“Two things are one thing,” he corrected her.

“Where do you find scissors?” she asked.

“In a tailor’s shop.”

“Yes,” said Flaxfold. “Tailors use scissors. They know the difference between one thing and two things.”

Sam stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To look for the tailor.”

“Did the roffle tell you where he is?”

Sam scowled.

“No. He vanished down his filthy roffle hole and I couldn’t find him.”

She laughed.

“Take some food,” she said. “I’ll pack some for you.”

Sam shrugged.

“I’ll find food,” he said. “I’ll go through the inn.”

“Are you sure?”

“Where is it now?” he asked.

“Where it needs to be. Same as ever.”

Sam nodded.

Flaxfold stood and gave him a hug. She had to reach up to hold him. He had outgrown her.

“Be careful,” she said. “Look for the scissors and you’ll find the tailor.”

Starback ran out of the kitchen across the grass, spread his wings and leaped into the air. Sam watched him until he was only a speck, glinting in the light. He climbed the stairs and opened the heavy oak door of the study, locking it behind him.

Of all the rooms in the house it was the place Sam loved best. Oak and leather and rows of books, a fireplace and a small window. Sam picked up a piece of blue and white pottery and remembered times in there with Flaxfield.

He loosened his hold and allowed the plate to slip from his fingers and watched it as it hit the hearth, shattered and scattered.

“You shouldn’t have left me,” he said. “Not like that. Not then. Not yet.”

He sat at the table, put his head on his arms and found it hard to breathe. When he lifted his head again his arms were wet. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Look what you made me do,” he said.

He leaned down and picked up a large fragment of the shattered plate. It was bright against the dark wood. He picked up others, got on his knees and found them. He ordered them on the table, bringing the shape back, frowning at the gaps. Pieces were still missing. Ducking below the table, Sam found smaller pieces, tiny fragments. When they were added there were still gaps.

“It has to be all here,” he said.

Back below the table he whistled softly and held out his hand. Like a cloud of stars, a host of tiny points of light glowed in the shadow. He changed the whistle tone as a shepherd directs his dog. The motes of broken plate drifted up and settled in his hand.

Sam sprinkled the shards over the broken pieces, letting them find their own places. Looking at the crooked assembly of broken bits he nudged them into the best shape he could. He held his hands over them, palms down, raised his eyes and sighed.

When he looked down, the plate was restored. Not a crack, not a chip, not a blemish in the pattern. His hands were shaking. A small line of white foam gathered at the corners of his lips. He let his hands rest on the table on either side of the plate and looked at it. They were still trembling and he was short of breath.

“My own fault,” he said.

He remembered another lesson he had learned from Flaxfield, never to do what you can’t undo. Undoing was always much more effort than doing.

Sam waited until his hands were steady and his breathing easy. He put the plate back above the fireplace.

“Time to go.”

The door he had come in through had two handles, one on the left, one on the right. He took the handle on the left and opened it.

When he stepped through he was no longer in Flaxfield’s house.

“Let’s see,” he said. “What gossip is there about a tailor?”

He walked along the corridor, down the stairs and into the parlour of an inn, bright with custom, open to travellers.

“Hello,” he said.

The customers turned their heads and nodded. ||

at Smith in the morning.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Tamrin ignored him and crossed the room to the door. She was angry and ready to start to fight to get out. Trying the handle first, before she launched into her attack, she was surprised to find that it turned and the door opened.

“And where are you going?” he added.

Now that the door was open Tamrin didn’t know what to do. She had slept well, against her expectations, and had woken feeling better than she had for a long time. But angry at being locked in. And hungry.

“Just who do you think you are?” she demanded. “Locking me in.”

He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.

“You’re not locked in.”

“Not now.”

“So go if you want to.”

He lowered his hands, picked up a book and started to read.

Tamrin was angrier than ever. She had come downstairs ready for a fight and he had denied it her.

“I wanted to go last night,” she said.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I want and what I don’t.”

“Don’t tell lies, then. It was late. It was dark. It was dangerous out. You wanted to flounce out, but you didn’t want to leave.”

He didn’t look up from his book.

Tamrin felt herself shaking with anger. She darted a quick toothache spell across the room to him.

“Ouch,” she said. Her tooth jabbed a needle of pain into her.

Smith smiled and continued reading.

Tamrin quickly removed the spell and rubbed her cheek.

“Shut the door after you,” he said.

She shut the door, still inside.

“How did that happen?” she asked.

“If you’re staying you can help yourself to some breakfast.”

“Am I really free to leave?”

“Any time you want.”

He put the book down. Tamrin could see that it was well-used, old, and the pages were covered with diagrams and measurements.

She dragged a toe across the floor.

“If I can go,” she said, “I may as well eat first.”

He nodded and carried on reading. No matter how much she clattered a plate and cup, sawed furiously at a loaf of bread and slapped butter and marmalade on it, he made no response. He read steadily as though she was not there. She dragged the chair with as much noise as she could make and sat down with a thud.

After her first mouthful of food she stared at him. He didn’t look up.

“How did that toothache thing happen?” she asked.

“I really don’t know what you mean.”

“You do. You know you do. I sent a toothache spell to you and it came to me. How did that happen?”

He put down his book and took a drink from the mug next to him.

“It was toothache, was it?”

He laughed.

The tooth was still a little sore so Tamrin didn’t join in and laugh with him.

“Can you do magic?” she asked.

“No.”

She bit into the bread again and chewed while she thought.

“What happened, then?” she asked.

“Have you ever seen a blacksmith work?”

“No.”

“I’ll show you, if you like.”

“I haven’t got time. I’m leaving when I’ve finished this.”

“As you like,” he said, and picked up his book again.

Tamrin came close to throwing her breakfast at him.

“I said I was leaving,” she said, “not that I didn’t want you to explain.”

“It’s easier if I show you.”

“Tell me. I’m quick. I’ll understand.”

“There’s a hammer,” he said. “And an anvil. An anvil is a big—”

“I know what an anvil is. Tell me.”

“Did your teachers like you at the college?” he asked.

“Just tell me.”

“You put the hot iron on the anvil and strike it with the hammer. To shape it. No matter how hard you hold the hammer, no matter how much you try to control it, as soon as it strikes the anvil it bounces off. There’s no stopping it.”

Tamrin chewed the last of her bread and considered cutting more.

“You’re not an anvil,” she said.

“No. But I’m a smith. And smiths are not like anyone else. You’ll see that when you’ve had a look around.”

“I’m not going to have a look around. I’m leaving.”

“Winny will pack you some food.”

“Where is she?”

“Oh, not here just now.”

He went back to his book.

“Come back any time you want,” he said. “We’ll talk some more about tailors.”

Tamrin felt that the room was tilting or that the sunlight through the window was affecting her eyes. He was so frustrating that she was unbalanced.

“We didn’t talk about tailors,” she said. “You know we didn’t.”

He seemed to think about this, but Tamrin knew he remembered perfectly well.

“We didn’t,” he admitted. “Well, it’s too late now if you’re off. I’ll say goodbye to Winny for you.”

“I want to say goodbye to her myself. Where is she?”

“I’ll take you to her,” he offered. “She’s in the storeroom, unloading the cart.”

They crossed the yard together. He was taller than she remembered from the night before, broader at the shoulder, and with strong arms.

He pointed out the arrangement of buildings to her.

“The house runs along the side of the road,” he said. “And the forge is set at the back, separate and on the square from the house. The storeroom is an extension of the forge.”

Together the forge and the storeroom were more than half as big again as the house.

“Forge is a strange word,” he said. “It means the furnace where you heat the metal, and it means the building you work in as well.”