The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1) (4 page)

Nathaniel

“Don’t look at the fire, look into it.”

Hendricks nodded and squinted at the conjured fire.  The smoke rose up to the laboratory ceiling in wisps and swirls of gray.  I wished him on.  It’s difficult to find the weave of a spell and unravel it. Most magelings ignore that skill, but any apprentice of mine needed to know how to undo any mistakes he or others might make.

He held his hands in front of him and slowly moved his fingers like he was playing with a marionette.  I saw the threads of the fire move and held my breath…no, not that one…not that one either …yes—that one.  He pulled the thread with his will.  The weave unraveled and the fire disappeared.

I clapped my hands together in delight.  “Learning how to undo magic is the best way to learn.”

“The threads did what I told them.  I’ve never been able to do that.”  His broad smile threatened to swallow his face. 

His smile, no matter how plain, was infectious.  “I’m proud of you. This is your first step to something far greater.”

“May I try another?”

Before I could weave another spell, Geebee apparated into the laboratory.  Her face was creased with worry, but that wasn’t unusual for her. Something far beyond her normal fussiness lay behind her eyes. “Nattie!  Oh Nattie…Jonas…he’s at the door.  He’s hurt.”

With nary a thought, I flashed to my front door, soon followed by Geebee and later, the rumble of steps that signaled Hendricks.  Jonas sat against the doorframe, his legs splayed out before him.  Seabreaze fluttered about and cried.  Both Seabreaze and Geebee still saw Jonas as a little boy in short pants. So did I.

“Hi, Pop.”  He tried to smile, and I saw the gaps where teeth were missing.

I took Jonas’s hand and we apparated to my guest room, Jonas’s old bedroom.  He dropped to his knees and vomited for a long while, ending in dry heaves.  It was a normal reaction to apparition, but there usually isn’t blood in the vomit.  I swallowed my fear and helped him to the bed.

“God’s wounds,” I said. “What happened to you?  No, don’t speak.  I’ll take care of you.” 

Dried blood caked his lower face, and the left side of his jaw looked like a swollen plum.  Geebee apparated into the room holding bandages and scissors and helped me cut away his shirt.  A few moments later, Hendricks reached the top floor.  He stood in the doorway with his mouth ajar, sucking in breath.

“Hendricks, go back to the laboratory, the bookshelves.  There’s a red and white book with two twisted snakes on the cover.  Bring it up here.”

He nodded and began the long run back to the laboratory.

I traced a series of intricate runes in the air and filled them with Aether energy.  Jonas’s wounds revealed themselves to my mind, and I near retched.  My poor boy, my dear son...

Healing magic is the most complex form of magic, as it seeks to thwart nature’s path.  Outside of diagnosis and simple wounds, I needed my books.  Jonas’s forearm was cracked, and his insides were leaking blood.  Thank the Lord he made it here.

I touched his forehead and conjured a film of ice to cool his fevered brow.  I traced a rune that would numb his pain.  Anything that I could do to give him ease.

Hendricks scampered up the stairwell with the book in hand.

“Thank you.”  I took the book from his hands and began my work.

For over an hour I labored over my boy, tracing runes as delicate as snowflakes and elaborate as spun candy onto his body.  I channeled Earth and Water energy into him, seeking to correct the delicate balance of his humours.  Sweat soaked through my shirts and even my vest.  By the time I finished my sorcery, my clothes were soaked through.

Jonas rested beneath his covers, his expression much more comfortable than before.  There was nothing more I could do.  The magic must do as it would. Hopefully he’d awake in the morning.

I descended the stairs and walked to my study, but Geebee intercepted me.  She asked about Jonas, and I told her.  She frowned.  “Can I bring you a tea?  Tea makes everything better.”

“Yes, that would be nice. I’ll be in the study.”

Geebee nodded and bustled off.

In my study I walked past endless cases of books, breathing in the rich essence of leather and paper.  At a corner, I slipped into the shadow of the cases.  There’s an alcove there, concealed with a heavy curtain, the closest thing that I have to a church.  The altar was a straight back chair, a desk with papers, ink and quill, and on the wall, a portrait of Anna.

I stared at the painting for a long time.  Over the years I’ve memorized every brushstroke, every color and shade, every sad memory buried beneath the oil.  Brushstrokes and memories are all that I have left.

I poured the ink onto a piece of paper, and willed it to shift like shadows around a gaslight.   The ink began to take form, first curved shapes, and then sharper, more detailed edges.  I shut my eyes, letting the memories—like magic—do as it will, and holding in the tears that I felt drawing up inside of me.

“Nattie?” Geebee whispered.  “I have the tea.”

I opened my eyes, careful not to look at the paper. “Thank you.”

“I added some brandy and I brought the bottle, too.”

“You know me too well.”

“Well enough to leave you alone when you’re with Anna.  I’ll be along now.  Call if you need me.  I’m never more than a word away.”

I took a deep drink from the tea cup, and then a deeper drink from the bottle of brandy.  I closed my eyes again and let my memories move the ink.  It hurt to recall these thoughts, the days and nights together, the walks in my mother’s tulip garden, holding infant Jonas for the first time.  Memories hurt more than they heal, but it was a good hurt—the kind that a man aches for at times.  It’s like salting a wound to keep it from turning black.

I opened my eyes and looked at what my mind had wrought.  It was a drawing of Anna and a young Jonas.  I remembered that day.  We took a ferry to Hunter’s Point and watched a game of something called “base-ball.”  Jonas was enamored, and talked about it excitedly on the way home.  This drawing was of them on the ferry.  The sun set behind them and the sloop’s mainsail cast deep shadows on their faces.

I conjured a spark and watched as fire ate the corner of the paper.  The picture blackened like plague until there was nothing left.  I brushed the ashes into a dustbin, where they joined the ashes of every other prayer.

I sat all night in Jonas’s room and finished the brandy.  I faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes dreaming that he was awake, sometimes watching him as he slept.  When the sun showed its first rays over the East River, Jonas opened his eyes.

I ran to his side. “Jonas, are you well?  Does anything hurt?”  Geebee apparated into the room, a tea set and two cups on the silver tray in her hands.

“I was already on my way,” she said grinning.  “How are you feeling, my dumpling?”  She said to Jonas. She poured tea for him and added milk and sugar.

“Hurts, but I’ll live.” He took the tea from Geebee and sipped it.  “Just the way I like it.  Dunno how you remember.”

“You’ll have to stay in bed for the day,” I said. “I can enspell you again tonight.  The magic needs time to work.”

“I gotta get back on the stones.”

“The magic needs time.”  I shook my head. “Do you know who did this?” 

“It’s hazy, but I think so.”

Jonas retold his story, and I grimaced when he mentioned the Redcaps.  They’re vicious creatures, as tough as stone and nastier than an angry badger.  They’re responsible for much of the violence of both sides of the Veil.  In New York, they often serve as hired thugs for gangs or politicians.  There’s a powerful Redcaps—only gang in the Sixth Ward called the Plug Uglies. They’ve caused enough havoc that even the newspapers write on them.

“You were right, then,” I said.  “The Vanderlays are caught up in something super-normal.  I should’ve listened to you before.”

Jonas coughed and winced from the pain.  “Yeah, you should’ve.  Would’ve saved me a good anointing.”

“I know.  No fear, I’ll finish the search for you and find the Vanderlay child.”

“The hell you are!” He shouted.  He tried to roll out of bed, but fell back and winced. “I’m gonna catch those bastards and beat’em into pudding.”

“This is beyond you.  If there’s magic involved, there’s not much you can do to stop them.”

He grumbled.  “Then you handle the wizard stuff.  I’ll handle the real.”

I made a noncommittal sound and changed the subject to tea.  I’m not going to let him get killed.  I don’t even like him going outside without a warm coat.

That night I recast my spells, and by the next day I entered his room and found him shadow fighting before a wall.

“Feeling much better today, Pop.  You ready to see the Vanderlays?”

“Your eyes are still blackened.”

“I’ll say I’m in mourning.  Let me bathe and strap on the feed bag and I’ll be ready.”

He was so enthusiastic, I couldn’t say no.  “I’ll be downstairs.  Steak and eggs?”

“You spoil me.  The only time I eat anything decent is here.”

“You should move back home.  We have plenty of room.  Geebee and Seabreaze would burst with joy.”

He laughed.  I frowned.

Seabreaze and Geebee squealed when they saw Jonas come down the stairs.  Geebee hugged him around the waist. Seabreaze dove like a hawk and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Jonas hugged them back. “Now, now, ladies.  Not too hard.”

Seabreaze planted a tiny wet kiss on his cheek.  “Breakfast is almost ready.  I’m so glad you’re well again.”  She blushed and fluttered rather erratically back to the kitchen.

Along with Hendricks, who spent the past day memorizing runes and practicing in the garden, we sat down to an overwhelming breakfast of T-bones, fried eggs, and Indian pudding.  I ate some and pushed the rest around my plate.  Jonas devoured his and asked for seconds.  Seabreaze was more than happy to oblige him.

Jonas belched and pushed away from the table.  “Thank you so much, Seabreaze.  You’re a positively magical cook.” She giggled.  He turned to me. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose so.”

“I…I’ll stay here and study,” Hendricks said.  He cut a piece of fried egg and speared it with his fork.  It slipped off of the tines and fell back to the plate.

In the entrance hall, I put on my coat.  I waved a finger and my slouch hat and Watchmage’s cane flew across the room to me.

“This won’t do,” I said as I looked myself over.

“What won’t?” said Jonas.

I gestured to myself.  “The Vanderlays know me.  I can’t appear at their house and ask about the baby. Better that they meet someone else.”  I traced a series of runes in the air, charged it with Aether and Chaos, and let the weave surround me. I shrunk down a half foot and thickened my belly.  My beard disappeared, and my hair turned black from its normal brown and gray.

Jonas looked at me and laughed.  “What should I call you?”

I thought on it for a moment.  “Detective Dupin.  Auguste Dupin.” I said with a grin.  It was a reference to a story by a departed friend of mine.  I doubted that the Vanderlays would know it.

Jonas nodded.  “Detective Dupin it is…hmm, I think my lost teeth are coming in.”

Arrock, my stable boy and coachman, drove us to the railroad station at Forty-Second and Fourth.  There they switched from horsepower to steam.  Steam engines were banned from the city center for the legitimate fear of explosion.