True Magics (2 page)

In the deep, pregnant silence, Eileen curtseyed, picking the robe from the floor in the same motion, and walked to stand beside Thomas and Henry.

The place went insane.

If the building was shaking before, the clamour that was rising now threatened to bring it down. Students shouted and screamed in amazement and anger and glee and disbelief. Graham and Keith were both staring, mouths open. Keith’s face was bright red. Students yelled at the stage and at one another. Some began pushing and swearing at each other.

Aldrick Thornton, Master of Rhetoric, dashed down the centre aisle and up the stage steps to the lectern, calling for order as he went. Even his magnificent voice went practically unheard over the arguing and fighting until the rest of the masters and professors rose to their feet and demanded silence.

When the audience was finally back in their seats and the howls of outrage and glee reduced to muttering and chortles, Master Aldrick turned his eyes on Thomas, Henry and Eileen. The three braced themselves but, to their surprise, the master said nothing. He didn’t even look angry. He looked… curious. He turned back to the audience, who were now holding their breaths to see what would happen next.

“Well,” The Master of Rhetoric said, “In twenty years of debates, I can say that this was the most surprising argument that I have seen.”

Nervous laughter came from both sides.

“Enough of this!” Macklin Revus, Professor of History was still on his feet. He leaned on the bench in front of him, his round, florid face practically beet-red with anger. “Are we to let this farce continue?”

“Farce?” the Master of Rhetoric’s face was impassive and his tone gentle, but something in his bearing made the entire assembly fall silent.

Professor Revus didn’t notice. “Yes, farce! To let a girl into the Academy! To let her participate in a debate… it’s a mockery!”

The Master of Rhetoric’s left eyebrow rose a measured quarter-inch. “You’re taking the “against” side, then?”

Another nervous laugh rolled through the room.

“This is not a joke!” snapped Professor Revus.

“It most certainly is not!” said Master Aldrick, his voice now loud enough to fill the room. “It’s a debate! And I, for one, am anxious to hear how our audience will weigh the arguments that we have heard here today!” He looked to Keith and Graham. “Do you have more to add?”

“We do not,” said Keith, his voice tight and furious. Graham, beside him, just nodded.

Master Aldrick bowed formally to Keith and Graham, then again to Henry, Thomas and Eileen. “Both sides have finished their arguments!” he announced. “And now, students of the Royal Academy of Learning, it is up to you to decide who will be the victor!” His held out his hand toward Thomas, Henry and Eileen. “Let those who think that the ‘for’ side has won their argument convincingly, rise to their feet!”

The Student Company were on their feet in an instant. The others around them—all friends—rose next. Then more and more stood up until two-thirds of the students in the hall were on their feet. For a moment the room was silent as everyone watched.

Then pandemonium broke out again.

“The ‘for’ side has won!” declared the Master of Rhetoric, his words drowning in cheers. “It is therefore the opinion of the Royal Academy of Learning that girls should be allowed to attend!”

Henry and Thomas rose to their feet and bowed, Eileen dropped into a deep curtsey. Master Thornton shook the hands of all three. “You do realize there will be grave consequences to this,” he said, raising his voice to be heard.

“We do,” said Thomas.

“But not today!” added Henry as cheering students swept onto the stage. All three were raised high on shoulders and paraded around the hall. Eileen, Thomas saw, was being lifted by members of the Student Company, who were being quite careful both about where their hands were and who was allowed close to her.

Then Thomas had to duck as they carried him out the Assembly Hall and into the bright sunshine of the cold, early spring morning. Behind him, Eileen squealed as the near-freezing air hit her bare arms. William from the company tossed her robe up and she wrapped it tight around her shoulders. The cheering students took them once around the Academy’s common before letting the three of them down. There was more cheering and many handshakes and much backslapping. Someone produced a flask of whisky and each of the three got a swallow before it was passed out of their reach.

“Excellently done,” said Mark, a lieutenant in the Student Company. He tossed Eileen her cloak and coat, then Henry and Thomas theirs. “I didn’t think we’d actually win! Good work, Eileen!”

“Great work!” said Marcus, who’d been one of Thomas’s runners during the battles for Frostmire.

“All we won was the debate,” warned Thomas, hurrying into his coat. “Next step is the petitions. After Festival we start collecting signatures, demanding they change the rules and let Eileen into the Academy. Then we go to council and that’s where things will get difficult.”

“By the Four, this is the easy bit?” Eileen shook her head. “I should have stayed in the north!”

The students around her laughed. Thomas smiled. “And what would I have said to your parents?”

“They’ve got to let her in after that performance,” said Charles, who had lost his right hand in Frostmire’s streets.

“They don’t have to do anything,” said Eileen as she buttoned her coat then pulled the cloak tight around her shoulders. “After today, they don’t even have to let me into the grounds.”

“They may not even let
us
back in,” said Henry.

“They can’t ban us without speaking to us first,” said Thomas.

“Which they can’t do if we are not here,” said Henry. “And since the Festival of the Rains is tomorrow…”

“We need to go somewhere and get good and drunk before we go in the water!” declared Wilson, another member of the company. “We’ll not survive it otherwise! To the Quill!”

The crowd cheered and shuddered at once. The Festival of Rains was the second of the spring festivals, only two weeks after the Equinox. It was a festival of defiance; a show of strength against winter and faith in the coming spring. And in Hawksmouth, capital city of Criethe, the Festival of Rains was celebrated by walking to the beaches and immersing oneself in the ocean as the sun broke the horizon.

For students of the Academy, it was a matter of honour to go in first, a matter of pride not to sleep the night before, and a matter of practicality to be somewhat less than sober.

They flowed out of the Academy grounds and poured into the streets of Hawksmouth in a stream of black cloaks and high spirits. Thomas grabbed Eileen’s hand as they went and squeezed it hard. Eileen raised her voice above the clamour. “I have to go home first and tell George!” she called. “We’ll meet you there!”

“Don’t be late!” called Marcus. “You need as much alcohol as possible!”

Eileen pulled Thomas onto a side street, then grabbed him and kissed him thoroughly. “It worked!” she nearly shrieked when they broke apart. “It actually worked! We did it!”

“
You
did it, you mean,” said Thomas. “You’re the one who gave the speech.”

“Which was my idea,” said Henry, making them both jump. “Does that mean I get one of those?”

Eileen hugged Henry hard, then reached up and kissed his cheek. “You’re a fool, Henry Antonius.”

“
Lord
Henry Antonius to you,” said Henry, hugging her back.

“I am so proud of you,” said Thomas. “You were amazing.”

Eileen blushed. “You wouldn’t have said that if you saw me before the debate. I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up or pass out.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” said Henry. “I had money riding on it.” He pushed her away. “Now let’s tell George. I want to be at the Quill before the food is gone!”

The Street of Smiths was a fair distance from the Academy, down two major streets and across a market square filled with people, wagons and carriages. Eileen practically bounced the entire distance, with Thomas and Henry hard on her heels.

George’s small house was at the end of the Street of Smiths. Henry’s brother John, who was now Duke of Frostmire, had rewarded them all generously for fighting in the north and George had used his money to rent a smithy. The small house had been run down when George took possession, but it had a forge on the main floor with a kitchen and sitting room directly above, and two bedrooms on the third floor, just below the roof. George had repaired the forge and opened it for business in less than a week. The rest of the house had taken most of a month for George to fix up, but now it was snug and cozy.

The sign above the wide doors of the smithy read “Sir George Gobhann: Blacksmith and Bladesmith.” Henry had suggested adding George’s title, claiming a little nobility never hurt a business. It seemed to have worked. In two months George had built a steady clientele of carters, soldiers and housewives asking for horses shod, weapons sharpened or fixed, and pots repaired.

The doors to the smithy were wide open and George was inside, working shirtless under his apron despite the cold. Where Eileen was the image of their mother, George was built tall and wide like their father, with Lionel’s brown hair and eyes.

A tall young lady with pleasant curves and a length of blonde hair braided into a ponytail down her back was watching him repair a pot, though she seemed far more interested in George’s bare arms than the work he was doing. For his part, George was doing a remarkable job of simultaneously fixing the pot and flirting.

“Who’s the girl?” asked Thomas.

“Linda Gatron,” said Eileen. “She’s been coming over for about a month, now.”

“She must have a lot of pots that need mending,” said Henry.

“I doubt it,” said Eileen. “Her father is the head of the Smiths’ Guild.”

“He is?” Henry sounded impressed. “George is moving up in the world.”

“Why did I not know about this?” asked Thomas.

“Because you haven’t sat down to talk to George once in the last five weeks,” said Eileen.

“I have tried,” said Thomas. “He won’t go out. Says he’s too tired or too busy.”

“And now we know who he was too busy with,” said Henry, watching George hand back the girl’s pot. Their fingers met on the rim and stayed there as they chatted. “He is smooth, isn’t he?”

“Be nice, you,” warned Eileen. “George! We won the debate!”

“You did?” George’s face lit up. He spoke a quick word to Linda and hurried out to the street. “Good for you!” He swept Eileen up in a huge hug, spun her around twice and dropped her solidly on her feet. “And what about you two? Are you still students?”

“So far,” said Henry, shaking George’s hand. “After Festival we’ll find out if we’re all out on our ears.”

George’s eyes narrowed. “You’re far too cheery about that, Henry.” He let go of Henry’s hand and shook Thomas’s. “What happens next?”

“Petitions,” said Eileen. “Then the Council of Rules, if we get enough signatures.”

“Which we will,” said Thomas. “We’re going to the Quill to celebrate—”

“After I get changed,” said Eileen, heading for the door of the smithy. “If I go dressed like this they’ll think I’m the entertainment. Be right back.” She waved a greeting at Linda and dashed up the stairs. Linda smiled and waved back.

“Come with us, George,” said Thomas. “It’ll be fun.”

George shook his head. “No, you don’t want me there.”

“Yes, we do,” said Thomas. “When’s the last time the four of us got together?”

“Too many students,” said George. “Too much noise. I’ll meet you on the beach.”

“Because it will be all sorts of quiet there,” said Thomas.

“Quieter than the Broken Quill.”

“George, come with—”

“No.” His expression darkened, like a sudden cloud covering the sun, and for a moment he looked almost angry. He blinked a few times, as if something had gotten into his eyes. Then he shook his head and the darkness lightened a little. “Thank you. Just no.”

“All right,” said Thomas.
What is going on?
“Another time.”

“I’d best get going,” said Linda. She smiled at George. “I’ll see you at the beach in the morning?”

The cloud over George vanished and he smiled. “You will. Give my regards to your father.”

“I will.” Linda smiled back at him and walked away.

Henry watched her go. “Nice girl. And the daughter of the head of the Smiths’ Guild, too, I hear. When are you going to introduce us?”

“Never,” said George. He pointed a warning finger at Henry. “Keep away from her, you.”

“Not to worry,” said Henry. “Sure you won’t come with us? There will be much drinking.”

“I’m sure,” said George, turning back to the forge. “You can wait for Eileen in the kitchen.”

“We’ll do that,” said Thomas.

***

The
Broken Quill
was the largest pub in the student quarter. It was a solid stone building, three stories high, and had been there as long as Hawksmouth itself—perhaps longer, if the stories were to be believed. The pub seated more than two hundred and, from the noise coming from within, it was already full. Just inside the wide, open door sat Fenris and Marcus, a pair of nearly identical, very tall, very large men with equally large iron-studded wooden clubs. One was watching the street, the other, the customers inside.