Small Magics

Chapter 10

Chapter 3

The tailor, whose name was Alistair and who told Thomas to address him as such, please, insisted on taking them all to the pastry stand in honour of Thomas’s victory. Thomas, now quite hungry, hadn’t argued, and the three munched on blueberry jam pies as the tailor led them to his shop. A suit for Master Thomas? Oh, yes, of course. His father had already brought the fabric and paid for the work. If Thomas would just accompany him back to the shop…?

“He already paid for it?” asked Thomas, following in step beside the tailor.

“Indeed. He came in not two weeks ago, bringing fabric from his own warehouse, and mighty nice fabric at that. And he ordered boots to match, though the cobbler said he needed your foot size first, since he hasn’t measured you since you were fourteen—he’s at home by now, so you should drop by him next. Your father said it was to honour your work at the Academy.”

Thomas was quite confused and said so.

“Oh, he’s very proud of you. Why, he even bragged about that sword you have. Said you won it at a tournament which shows you weren’t wasting your time there.” The tailor chuckled. “Not that he approved of wearing swords, he was quick to add.”

“I thought you said your father was furious at you.” Eileen sounded as confused as Thomas felt.

“He was,” said Thomas. “He was practically foaming.”

“Could he have been pretending?” asked George.

“I don’t think so.” Thomas thought about it; shook his head. “No. Not a

chance. Remember when he had the surprise party for my twelfth birthday? He couldn’t think up a lie good enough to keep me distracted for half a day.” “I don’t understand, Master Thomas,” said the tailor, looking the very picture of mild consternation. “He never stops boasting about you.” Thomas shook his head again. “I don’t understand, either.”

***

The tailor measured Thomas thoroughly, cut the rich blue fabric John Flarety had chosen, and draped it on Thomas. Around a mouth full of pins, he promised that he and his assistants would work through the night. The suit would be ready for fitting the next morning, and done the next night, just as John Flarety had asked. Thomas thanked him and stood, dazed, as the fabric was pinned, marked, and taken away.

Thomas’s head was spinning as they went to the cobbler’s shop. The cobbler was as accommodating as the tailor. The leather had been selected and dyed, all it needed was to be cut and pieced together. The cobbler measured out Thomas’s feet and promised him boots done by the next evening.

By the time Thomas was seated in the pub, his mind felt like a ship rolling in a high sea. Eileen and George let him alone, ordering their drinks and his, and talking to each other as he sat staring into space, his mind foundering in the events of the day.

His father was angry. His father was proud. The bishop said Thomas was a rogue and Thomas’s father agreed. Timothy created a ball of light from nothing. His father thought Thomas was wasting money at school but wanted him to spend more money to come home sooner. His father had spent even more money on a fine new suit and boots, but wouldn’t let his son sit at table with his guests. Timothy created a ball of light from nothing.

Timothy created a ball of light from nothing.

Too much education distracts a man from what’s important, Thomas thought, quoting the favourite excuse at the Academy for dragging students from their studies to the taverns. His father was acting very strangely, and all Thomas could focus on was Timothy’s trick. A dozen times he went through it in his head. It was not possible to make a ball of light, and certainly not to make one appear from thin air. Yet, he was certain that the juggler had done just that.

And it was a ball of light, not a ball of wood.

He knew that as sure as he knew he was breathing, and not just because he saw Timothy pull the wooden ball out of his jacket after the trick was over. Timothy could have had two, using the first ball for the trick, and then pulling the second one out for his finale, but that wasn’t what happened. Thomas had stared at the ball of light, and knew for certain what it was.

Gavin sniffed right behind him.

The sound, so familiar from years of childhood studies, yanked Thomas from his reverie. He found himself sitting up straight and paying attention out of sheer habit. Gavin was standing beside the table, looking down his nose at the three of them. His hands were clutched tightly at the edge of his cloak, raising it to keep the hem off the floor. He spared a brief nod to George and Eileen then turned to Thomas. His brows were drawn tight together, and his lips pursed. Thomas braced himself for the lecture that usually accompanied the expression. It didn’t come.

“I have a message from your father,” Gavin said, instead. “You are to use the money he gave you to pay for the cost of your room.”

“My room?” Thomas repeated. “Why do I need a room?”

Gavin’s brows knitted further. “Your father thinks it best that you take a room for the night.”

“What?” Thomas stared at Gavin until comprehension came, smashing into him like a wave. “WHAT?”

Gavin stumbled backwards in surprise. Thomas realized that he was on his feet, his hands planted hard against the table. Everyone in the tavern was staring. He didn’t care. “Why?!”

“He didn’t say, Master Thomas,” said Gavin. “Only that he requests that you come for dinner tomorrow night, and that you present yourself in a more appropriate fashion.”

“Present myself? I was coming home!”

“Master—”

“Don’t ‘Master’ me! Do you know how long a walk it was? I’ve been rained on, chased by dogs, half frozen! I’ve been sleeping in barns and ditches for three weeks!”

George reached for him, “Thomas…”

Thomas shook him off. “No! All I wanted was to see my family. Yes, I look like a vagrant, but I can clean up quick enough!”

“Which is what your father wishes you to do,” said Gavin, using his best school-master tone. “And when you have done so, you may present yourself to your family and their guests. He suggests tomorrow night. At dinner.”

Thomas grabbed his bag and started for the door. Gavin took two quick steps and got in front of him. Thomas gritted his teeth to keep from shouting. “Get out of my way.”

“Please do not attempt to go home tonight, Master Thomas.”

Thomas tried to push past him, and Gavin stepped in his way again. “Thomas, he will have you turned away at the door.”

Thomas stared at Gavin in shock. In that moment, he realized that his old tutor’s pinched expression was for John Flarety. Gavin was angry, all right, but not at Thomas. Instead, the thin, awkward man put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “Your father left instructions with Brian, Master Thomas. You’re not to be admitted into the house tonight.” He squeezed Thomas’s shoulder gently. “I’m sorry.”

Thomas searched for words, but none came out. Everything around him seemed to fade.

“Take care of the lad,” Thomas heard Gavin say, probably to George and Eileen. The school-master tone was gone, replaced by concern. “Please. The matter will be resolved by tomorrow night, I’m certain.”

He gave a short bow, then turned on his heel, lifted his cloak higher, and carefully threaded his way out of the inn.

George’s hand replaced Gavin’s on Thomas’s shoulder; led him back to his chair. Thomas sank into it, stunned.

“This isn’t right,” said Eileen. “He should be welcoming Thomas home.”

“He must have a reason,” George kept his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “It’s not like him, at all. Even when he and Da fight, he’s better behaved than this.” He stopped, then amended, “Well, usually.”

“I don’t understand,” Thomas said. A tremor started in his body, and he ruthlessly suppressed it. “What have I done?”

“Come home with us,” said George. “Da will surely let you stay for the night.”

“Aye, he will,” said Eileen. “He and Mum will want to see you anyway, so why not tonight?”

“Come on,” said George. “You can have supper at our house.”

Thomas shook his head, trying to clear away his confusion. “No. No, we eat here. And we drink here.” He looked at the mug of beer before him, then picked it up and drained half of it before setting it down. “I’m here with my friends and tonight we eat and we drink and we celebrate. Tomorrow, I’ll get myself cleaned up and dressed up and go home.”

“The forge will heat water faster than anything else around here,” said George. “We’ll get you a hot bath and you can show up at your father’s door looking better than any of his guests.”

“Good.” Thomas drained the mug. “Tomorrow, I go home,” he said, gesturing for the bartender to bring more drinks. “And then I find out what’s going on here.”

***

The sun set long before Thomas led his two friends, stumbling and laughing, out of the woods and to the old grain mill with its waterwheel and the stream above, and its deep pond below. “There!” he declared. “Found it!”

“And after only a quarter-hour of looking,” laughed Eileen. “You missed the path entirely!”

“True,” agreed Thomas. “But I found it!”

They had sat in the tavern for hours, drinking far more than was good for them, and eating far more than they should. Thomas spent his silver liberally, feeding his friends soup and roast beef and fresh bread and berry tarts hot from the oven. His father would be appalled, Thomas was sure.

He had shoved the events of the day firmly to the back of his mind and bought a round for the tavern, declaring his homecoming an occasion for celebration. He demanded to know what had happened in Elmvale over last four years and listened as everyone told stories and jokes. He had to force himself to enjoy it at first, but as the evening wore on, he found himself having fun. George and Eileen told stories on each other that had Thomas gasping for air, he was laughing so hard. The innkeeper had thanked them as they left, and told them to come back the next day for fiddling and dancing. Thomas, still laughing, bowed deeply and promised solemnly to return.

Now Thomas was staring at the mill pond where he and George used to swim years before. In the dim light of the quarter moon, the mill and the woods were shades of grey and silver. The waterwheel was still; a black shadow against the night-darkened stone of the mill. The trees stood silent; no whisper from their leaves or stir from their branches as they reached thin fingers of twig and leaf out over the pond. The wood behind them was a mass of grey shadows, barely distinct and fading to black after only a few feet. On the edge of the pond, a single large stone, the perfect size and shape for jumping from, sat anchored, half in the wood, half in the water. There was no breeze to ripple the pond, and the smooth dark surface reflected the moon and stars back to the sky. Thomas stood at the edge of the water, feeling the pleasant warmth of the evening fading with his friends’ laughter. The creatures of the woods began making their night sounds again as the three friends fell silent, filling the gentle air with a sonorous buzz.

“We should head home,” said Eileen, after a time.

Thomas snorted. “Wish I could.”

“You’ll go home tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?” Thomas demanded. The pain that had been simmering since dinner boiled over, “Why shouldn’t I be home tonight? I used to live there, didn’t I?”

“You still do,” said George.

“Then why can’t I go home?!”

“Shhh!” Eileen said. “You’ll wake the entire village, you will.”

“Or worse,” said George, “my father.”

“We’re too far from the village to wake anyone.” Thomas lowered his voice as he said it, though. He squatted on his haunches and turned his eyes back to the water. George sat down on the ground to one side of the stone, Eileen on the other.