The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) (5 page)

A short while later, magician and apprentice were strolling through the woodland in a companionable silence, broken only when Symon would scuttle up to some tree, berried shrub or wild flower and explain with unrestrained enthusiasm, its name and its various properties. At first, Karryl feigned interest, but as the morning wore on he found himself warming to the subject. He began to realise that what he had once considered to be merely weeds, or just trees and bushes, were in fact useful and in some cases, valuable. He began to ask questions. Symon nodded and smiled in approval, his smile sometimes becoming almost beatific when his pupil asked a particularly pertinent question. It was only when Karryl’s stomach began to grumble and growl most alarmingly, that Symon suggested they should return to the tower for lunch.

Karryl’s face fell. “I thought we were going to do some magic.”

The little magician wagged a finger at the boy’s impatience. “All in good time. I understand your eagerness to get started, and that’s why you will find the first few weeks of your training the most difficult. You will spend seemingly endless hours studying and observing, thinking and assessing.”

Tilting his head to one side he gave Karryl a wry smile. “We don’t want you going off like a crossbow that’s only half cocked, do we? Who knows what damage that wayward bolt would do?”

Hands shoved into his pockets, Karryl stared at the ground as he moodily scuffed at a grass-root with his foot. His stomach growled again.

He raised his head and grinned at Symon. “I s’pose you’re right. Anyway, I can’t think straight on an empty stomach.”

The magician patted his palms together and returned the grin. “Nor me, lad. Nor me.”

Their return through the woodland was unhurried, and they arrived at the tower with an armful of late flowers, berried branches and foliage, which Karryl placed in a large earthenware jug of water. While he was doing this, Symon produced an appetising lunch of cold meats, relish and fresh wholemeal bread, followed by fruit and another cup of the tea of which the little magician was so fond. It was then that the weather decided to put a dampener on Symon’s plans for the afternoon. The sky darkened and heavy raindrops rattled against the window. Magician and apprentice glumly watched rivulets of water snaking down the glass and splattering on the windowsill.

Symon stood and began to gather up plates. “This may not last too long.” He began to head for the kitchen, then paused and turned. “A good opportunity for you to do some quiet studying. What d’you think?”

Not being able to think of anything he would rather do, Karryl glanced across at Symon’s book-filled shelves and nodded his agreement.

Returned from the kitchen, Symon rested his hands on the table, his expression pensive as he looked at Karryl. “Can you draw?”

Slightly taken aback at the question, the boy’s mouth fell half open as he thought for a moment. Giving Symon an uncertain smile, he gestured vaguely. “Well, I used to draw pictures for the little tackers in our gang, to keep them amused, you know? The older ones seemed to like them as well.”

Not sure what to expect, he watched as Symon scurried across the room and opened a cupboard Karryl hadn’t noticed before. Suspicious, the boy frowned as Symon took out a sheaf of paper and a box of drawing materials.

After placing them on the table, Symon then fetched the jug of flowers and foliage and stood it beside them. “See what you can make of those. It will be good training in observation, a vital tool for any good magician. As for me, I think I’ll look for some other things we’ll need to use later.”

Settling down at the table Karryl sorted through the box of drawing materials. Satisfied with his selection, he pulled the jug a little closer and began to study the various flowers and berried twigs he and Symon had gathered that morning.

After a while, he looked up from the drawing he was making. “Excuse me, Master Symon. Is there a book about these plants that I could look at?”

Symon thought for a moment, then crossed over to the bookshelves. Reaching up as high as he could he hefted down a heavy volume bound in brown leather.

Almost reverently he ran his fingers over the cover before placing the book in front of his new apprentice. “There you are my boy. Father Clement’s Herbal. You will find everything you need to know for now within those pages. The drawings are very good. It’s the volume I used when I was an apprentice.”

Karryl’s eyes opened wide in surprise and he was about to say something, but thought better of it.

Symon chuckled. “Yes, it is a very old book, but the information it contains is still current, and its value as a study book is inestimable. Father Clement was the greatest herbalist and teacher of his time, and his book is the definitive volume for all students of medicine and the magical arts. I always looked forward to his lectures.”

Karryl swallowed hard, letting his fingers caress the smooth chestnut-glossy cover with its heavily embossed title picked out in gold, albeit worn slightly thin in places.

Symon reached out and patted the volume almost affectionately. “Take it to your room when you’ve had enough studying for today. That’s where it belongs now. And there’s no need to address me as Master when we’re here. Everyone calls me Symon, because that is my name.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “You only need to address me as ‘Master’ when there are other people present.”

Karryl nodded. “Thank you.” he replied, and carefully opened the cover of Father Clement’s Herbal. After he had been perusing the volume for about an hour, he looked across to the window seat. Legs crossed at the ankles, Symon sat examining and sorting a large bundle of scrolls. Some he dropped to the floor, and others he tucked carefully into the space beside him, his low murmurings accompanied by satisfied little nods. He was, however, not so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice Karryl hoping to catch his eye.

The magician regarded him from under his bushy white eyebrows. “Problems, Karryl?”

Karryl’s expression was puzzled. With a brief shake of his head he indicated the large book in front of him. “Not really. It’s just that there are a lot of herbs and plants in this book that don’t seem to grow out in the woods, but there’s instructions for growing them in a garden or in pots. Have you got a garden, ‘cos I don’t remember seeing one when we were out this morning?”

Symon jumped to his feet, scattering scrolls in all directions. “Yes, yes, of course! I have a garden, a beautiful garden.”

He hurried to the window and peered out. “Good. It’s stopped raining, and I can even see a patch of blue sky. Yes, that is where we should be, not stuck indoors. Come, I’ll show it to you. You’ll more than likely learn just as much out there as you will studying that book, and the fresh air will give you an appetite. You can help me dig some carrots and pick some late beans and then we’ll have a feast at suppertime!”

Karryl grinned at his master’s almost childlike enthusiasm. Finding it also extremely infectious, he clattered along behind him down the stairs, trying hard not to laugh as Symon waved his hands about in the air whilst rattling off the names of the varieties he grew in his garden. Following the little path that wound its way beside the tower, they arrived at another narrow gravelled path branching off to the left and ending at a small copse of silver birch trees. Now turned to the butter yellow of autumn, the close leaves fluttered and shimmered in the cool breeze.

Symon stopped. “Here we are.”

Karryl stared. “But …all I can see is trees!”

The little magician looked at him and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Is that a fact?” He lifted a finger, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Watch, and remember what you can. This will be your first opportunity to learn a practical spell.”

Facing the trees and holding out his hands at waist level, palms forwards, he uttered a short phrase in a language strange to Karryl’s ears. As his mind raced in an effort to catch the words, the little copse of trees seemed to turn to liquid and melt away into the ground. There in front of them was a small, neatly laid-out garden.

Hardly able to believe what he had just witnessed, Karryl took a hesitant step forward. “Was it there all the time?”

“But of course. All I did was to remove the spell of concealment, otherwise known as a ‘glamour’. It’s a lot easier than building fences, and it won’t blow down in a gale! Shall we go and see what we can find?”

Master and apprentice spent the next couple of hours amongst the wide variety of fruit, vegetables and herbs which grew in the well tended, sheltered plot. From a tidy little potting shed at the far end of the garden Symon collected a fork and a wooden trug and together they dug carrots and picked the last of the bean crop. Taking the trug of beans, Karryl followed Symon to the apple tree and watched as, with a gentle lift and a twist, the magician picked several golden, rosy-blushed apples and placed them in the trug with the beans.

Symon’s round face glowed with pleasure. “Right ! Let’s collect the carrots and then go home and prepare to devour nature’s bounty. Don’t forget to stand behind me while I replace the concealment.”

* * *

While they were sitting down to supper, Karryl raised a subject that had been on his mind since he began his studies. “When will I start learning to do real magic, like that spell of concealment…er…glamour… you showed me at the garden? That looked really easy, and I’m sure I can remember the words.”

Symon regarded him from under his eyebrows as he crunched on a pickle. Eventually he replied. “You must have patience. There is much more to learn before you make even the smallest attempt. Suppose you were to try and cast a spell at this moment, mispronounced something or used an incorrect word, and it went wrong. I doubt if you could begin to imagine what dire consequences that might have!”

Karryl looked puzzled. “But wouldn’t it just…well…not happen?”

Gravely, Symon shook his head. “Not necessarily. A spell cast with a lack of confidence, or with insufficient time to complete would, as you say, more than likely fall flat. However, I feel that confidence is something that you do not lack, although we haven’t yet established what actual magical strength you may have. It’s a very humbling and frequently painful experience to have a spell come back at you. In the case of a powerful spell, it could even result in the unfortunate demise of the practitioner.”

Pausing for a moment to gauge the reaction of his young apprentice, Symon picked up his knife and fork and proceeded to finish his supper, leaving the boy deep in thought. He remained so for the rest of the evening until he went to his room, leaving Symon reading a book and puffing contentedly on his pipe.

Rain had been falling almost constantly for the last three days. Karryl was not unhappy, just restless. He felt shut in. His life until a few weeks ago had been out in the open, having no option but to brave all weathers, seeking what shelter he and the little gang he ran with could find. He desperately wanted to go down into Vellethen. He missed the rough smart boys, and the duffers who looked to him to guide them through the trials of a hard life that few of them lived by choice. The smells and sounds of the streets he knew so well, the hustle and bustle of the places he had grown up in, crowded his memory, playing havoc with his concentration.

Despondent and slightly bored, he flicked the pages of the small volume he had been making a valiant effort to read. He had hoped he would have been allowed to do some magic by now, even just one of the simple spells which Symon was constantly demonstrating. Despite several broad hints, to which he appeared to be frustratingly immune, Symon had kept his apprentice at his books.

With a weak smile he murmured “Thank you” as the little magician placed a large mug of steaming hot tea in front of him, before seating himself opposite.

Sipping at his own, Symon regarded Karryl over the rim of his mug. “Apart from what should be, what else is on your mind?”

Karryl closed his book, leaned back in his chair, and let out a loud sigh. His tone was peevish. “If you must know, I was wondering how long it’ll be before I can go into the city.”

Symon also leaned back, cradling his mug in his tiny hands. A quiver of mystified amusement crossed his lips. “Whenever you like. You’re not a prisoner you know.”

Eyes wide in disbelief, Karryl slammed his mug down on the table, sloshing tea dangerously close to his book. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been cooped up in here, my nose buried day after day in an…an…endless pile of…of…tomes and scrolls, and all the while you knew?”

Placing his own mug calmly and deliberately in the centre of a small rush mat, Symon gave his apprentice a long, flat look. “The reason why…if you must know…” Karryl blushed furiously as Symon threw his own words back at him… “is that, until late yesterday I didn’t know myself. Now, you may or may not be pleased to hear, you are legally my ward. A few more days and we shall go and see about signing the indentures of your apprenticeship.”

His mind whirling, and unable to stop the grin that was creasing his face, Karryl stared at Symon. “That means…”

“It means, my boy, that you are a citizen of Vellethen. Consequently, unless you do anything to break that law, you are free to go anywhere the law allows.”

To Symon’s amusement, Karryl’s response was to dash into the kitchen and return with a cloth. Quickly mopping up the spilt tea, he grinned at Symon, shrugged and tore back into the kitchen.

Seconds later he stood, tugging at his tunic, beside Symon’s chair. “Would it be alright if I went now?”

Symon stood and crossed to the window. As if by a whim of the gods, the rain had stopped and patches of pale blue sky showed between swiftly moving white clouds.

Beckoning Karryl over to him, Symon rummaged in a pocket of his robe. Retrieving a folded sheet of paper, he held it out. “Take this with you. It’s proof of your wardship. Let’s hope you don’t need it.”

As Karryl tucked the paper into a pocket of his jerkin, Symon produced a large silver coin, seemingly from thin air. “You might find this useful too. Don’t lose it or waste it.”

Hesitantly, Karryl took the coin, hefting it in the palm of his hand. “Is it real?”

The magician gave a loud huff of indignation. “Of course it’s real. Now, try not to get into any bother, and be back before dark. I don’t want to have to come out and look for you.”

Karryl grinned. “You won’t.”

Symon nodded. “I hope you’re right. Let’s be off then. I’ll go with you until we get to the city. I have some business of my own to attend to.”

He crossed the room and took a grey woollen hooded coat from a peg on the wall, shrugging into it as they made their way down the stairs. At the bottom, Symon opened the door, and the grey cat sidled in. Looking up at Karryl, she gave a short soft miaow before bounding up the stairs.

The little magician chuckled. “There you are you see. I said she’d be back eventually. Now off we go.” He pulled the door closed behind him.

Karryl turned and was starting to walk along the narrow path leading from Symon’s tower down towards the parade ground at the rear of the barracks, when he heard Symon call out to him. “This way! It’s much quicker.”

Almost hidden amongst the surrounding trees, the little magician was beckoning. Karryl changed direction, hurrying to catch up as Symon tramped briskly along a path which disappeared into the shrubs and undergrowth.

Karryl peered ahead. “Where does this lead to?”

The corners of Symon’s mouth twitched. “You’ll see when we come out.”

He strode off into the trees. Amazed at the pace set by the diminutive magician, Karryl found himself having to trot to keep up. A short while later he was even more amazed to see they had emerged near the Little Market.

Symon grinned at him. “Good, isn’t it? And I doubt very much that anyone could find their way back in again.”

Lost for words, Karryl looked back in the direction from which they had come, staring hard at the densely tangled hedge behind them. Seeing no evidence of either path or gap, he shook his head in bewilderment. “So which way do I get back then? I can’t say I know your neck of the woods all that well. It’s a fair step from the city.”

He scratched his head, his brow furrowing as he turned to take another look at the thick, unbroken hedge. “Baffles me how you got us down here so quick.”

Symon placed a reassuring hand on Karryl’s shoulder. “You’ll understand in time. But for now, your way back is through Great Market to the top of Broad Street, turn right into Stony Lane, follow it round past the barracks and onto the lane that runs past my tower.”

Karryl’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “That’s a fair old step.”

Symon chuckled. “Nothing for your young legs. Just remember to keep the palace and the grounds to your right, and be back before dark. That’s a tricky path at night.”

Giving a quick hitch to his robe, the little magician set off across the street. Karryl watched until he had disappeared amongst the stalls and early morning crowds of Little Market. After a quick checking to make sure the coin was still safely in his pocket, he cut across the end of the market and down a little side street. His heart pounding with anticipation he broke into a steady jog and headed down towards the docks.

* * *

Emerging from a narrow alley made slick and muddy by the recent rain, Karryl glanced around before darting light-footed along the back of a row of long, low buildings. Cautiously he peered round the end of a wall. A few yards away the remains of a little campfire lay cold and sodden, a few old charred chicken bones adding to the atmosphere of desolation. Karryl wandered over, stirred the miserable ashes with his toe, and looked about him. In daylight, the patch of waste ground with its haphazard collection of upturned battered wooden crates, boxes and tattered canvas, seemed bleak and uninviting. The place he had called home for almost six years cowered under the threat of looming, stony faced warehouses. Lying back to back, a pair of dead rats, their shriveled corpses crawling with maggots, served as a message to those who could read it, that the site had been abandoned. Almost contemptuously Karryl kicked at the soggy grey remains of the fire and turned away.

With the familiarity which comes from long use, he slipped unseen through the damp and detritus of closely confined alleyways. His gorge rose at the sickly sweet odour of rotting vegetation mingled with the acrid stench of human waste, which only a few weeks ago he would barely have noticed. What he did notice was something which raised his hopes of finding the ragged group who had once been all he could reasonably call his family. Above the roofs of the warehouses towered the swaying mast tops of one of the queens of the ocean, in which Karryl had so often dreamed of sailing the world.

The carter’s curses ringing in his ears, he narrowly escaped the iron-shod hooves of a heavy horse as he darted across the broad, packed stone cartway. A favourite place of the streetboys had been the long dock where the tall ships berthed. Running nimbly along the backs of a row of warehouses, Karryl ducked into a narrow alley leading to the dock. He heard voices raised as a pair of shadows moved across the narrow patch of sunlight at the alley’s far end. Some long suppressed instinct surged to the surface, bringing Karryl skidding to a halt. Without warning, his skin began to prickle, and for a brief moment an unreasoned fear washed over him. Startled, he pressed himself flat against the wall, straining his ears to hear what the two men were saying.

The arms of the tallest shadow waved for emphasis, as a strong deep voice spoke in low, urgent tones. “Father, you must listen to me. Naboria has given me something far more precious than wine. I have made a deal, the like of which dreams are made.”

Barely breathing, Karryl watched the shorter stouter shadow turn away.

Tense with pent up anger, an older voice hissed in reply. “I sent you halfway across the world to buy wine. How is my business to survive if all you return with is fanciful tales of things I can’t see?” He spat a foul curse. “Naboria? Whatever came out of Naboria that wasn’t either corrupt or downright evil?”

Karryl’s skin prickled again as the taller shadow darted out of sight, boot heels stamping loudly on the wooden planks of the dock. He stood quietly and listened to the sounds gradually fading away, waiting until the second shadow moved before he crept forward and poked his head round the edge of the warehouse wall. His mouth tightened in a thin line of disappointment. The two men were already gone from sight, either into one of the warehouses, or concealed within the steady stream of handcarts and wagons flowing out through the entrance towards the city. Karryl allowed himself a puzzled frown. He had recognised the voice of the older man, and what he had heard didn’t fit with what he knew.

Emerging from the stinking alley into the autumn sunshine, Karryl took a deep breath before turning and heading down towards the recently berthed ship. He stopped to watch and listen. Murmurs of astonishment and consternation still rippled back and forth among a small crowd of onlookers as they cast their eyes over the unfamiliar lines of the majestic vessel berthed dockside, and caught their first sight of the crew.

Rarely, if ever, had they seen a ship so stately and slender, nor men so tall and broad shouldered, or with skins so dark. Each one to a man, wore nothing above the waist apart from a necklace of white stones which glinted in the late afternoon sunlight. They trod the decks with bare feet, their legs covered in baggy trousers of a rippling yellow fabric, cuffed at the ankle and drawn in at the waist. They went busily about their tasks, one or other of them occasionally pausing to look down with dark slanted eyes at the small crowd gathered below.

A gust of wind caught the broad pennant swinging lazily from the top of the mast, snapping it out to reveal its full colours. A gasp of recognition went up from the men in the small gathering as they saw the emblem. Like a tidal wave the name of Naboria travelled along the dockside. Turning away, the onlookers hurried towards the dock gates without looking back.

The wrath of stevedores and carters a constant risk, Karryl dodged round piled boxes and stacked bales as he looked both dock and ship up and down. It didn’t take him long to establish that the gang weren’t working the docks. An enquiry to one of the stevedores he knew slightly, brought the gruff reply that the gang hadn’t been seen there for some time. Thanking the man, Karryl gave the tall ship a last lingering look. Hands stuffed into his pockets he strode away from the docks and headed back to town.