Chapter 5
If you've been reading the previous entries, some of this will seem familiar. I've decided to split the previous chapter in two, so this is the second half, expanded.
Tobin woke the next morning and immediately wished he had not. The grimy window was not enough to prevent beams of light streaming through and each one felt light a knife driven into the back of his skull via the eyeball. He groaned and buried his head under the pillow. His mouth felt and tasted like he had slept with a sock in it, and there was a deeply unpleasant smell in the room.
He tried to remember exactly where he was. There previous night's memories seemed to be mostly missing, and those that were there were a blur. He remembered a room full of inexplicably irritated women, and before that... He groaned again, wondering why everything had seemed such a good idea yesterday.
“Morning!” said an odiously cheerful voice.
After a few minutes, Tobin risked peaking out from under the pillow. He was in a small room, obviously in the attic of the building. There was little furniture, just the bed, a large wardrobe and a slightly wonky table with a mirror and wash bowl. To his left he could see Rosney, who was leaning against the wall and eating something that seemed to be the source of the evil smell. He sat up slowly, wishing the room would stop swaying.
“What is that?”
Rosney looked down at the sandwich in his hand. “This? This is the best hangover cure in the world. It's a fried egg and dripping sandwich, with lots of piccalilli. I made you one too.” He offered him a plate and Tobin blanched. Rosney looked alarmed. “Hey, you can get out of my bed if you're going to throw up.”
“I'm fine. Just... Just take that away.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied, then proceeded to eat the other sandwich. “I sent a note to your house. The last thing I want is to get accused of kidnapping.”
“Thanks,” he said, resting his head in his hands. “Oh, Milo is going to kill me."
“Your brother? No, I think he'll forgive you. That's what family's do for each other. He might not let you forget it though.”
Tobin wanted nothing more than to put his head back under the pillow and return to the blissful ignorance of sleep, but that was not really an option, especially in someone else's home. Rosney offered to lend him some spare clothes, but they were several sizes too big. For a few minutes he could not decide which to choose: dirty clothes that fitted, or clean ones that did not. Rosney watched his dilemma with undisguised amusement. Eventually clean clothes won out.
“The kitchen is just downstairs,” Rosney advised. “I'll meet you down there.”
Tobin made his way gingerly down the steep staircase, which was lit only by the light coming through a little window at the top of the landing. The world had stopped spinning at least, but he still felt distinctly unsteady on his feet. At the bottom were several doors, but only one was open and he could smell food from within.
Inside he found a small nest kitchen, with a large aga one one side and an expansive round oak table in the centre. Katja sitting at the table eating porridge. She gave him a friendly wave, as if he were someone she had known for a long time, rather than someone she had met briefly. He sat down on a hard wooden chair next to her. She offered him the bowl of porridge and he shook his head.
“How are you feeling?”
He turned to see Dahlia standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on her face. Unlike the last time he had seen her, today she was dressed in a plain white blouse and long skirt decorated with roses. Her black hair was loose and fell in ripples down to her shoulders.
“Not good,” he admitted. “Is this normal? To feel this way after drinking alcohol?”
“It is if you go drinking with Ros. He doesn't mean any harm, but he forgets that most people don't have his tolerance for drink. His mother was just the same. Rose Black could drink men under the table and then go on to dance the night away, none the worse for any of it.” She handed Tobin a glass of water. “Drink that; you'll feel better soon enough.”
He accepted it gratefully. “I've never asked your name,” he realised.
“They call me Dahlia.”
“No, I mean your real name.”
She seemed amused by this. “It's Bryony. Bryony Greenlove.” She turned to the stove. “Did Rosney offer you breakfast? I've got some eggs here.”
The idea of eating, combined with the still-vivid memory of the smell of Rosney's sandwich was too much for Tobin. He turned away from the table and retched. Quickly, Bryony thrust a large bowl in his hands.
“Sorry kid. I guess that was a stupid question.” She patted his back ineffectually as he was violently sick.
“I'm so sorry,” he gasped.
“It's okay; we've all been there,” she assured him.
“I've been so stupid.”
“Maybe, but you don't know your limits until you run into them.”
He coughed once more then sighed and set the bowl aside. “It's not just last night, though that was pretty stupid. No, ever since I came to the city I've been behaving like an idiot. I've been acting like a spoilt child and now I may have damaged things in a way I can't repair.”
This wasn't how I was planning to spend my morning, Bryony though. Why do I seem to be constantly cleaning up other people's mess?
“Look, things always seem worse when you are hungover. You'll see; it won't be as bad as you fear. Besides, everyone makes mistakes: it's all part of growing up. Just learn from them and set them aside, don't let them define you.”
“You should listen to her, Tobin. Bryony's a smart woman.”
They both turned to see Rosney standing in the doorway.
“That I might be, but I'm also a woman with lots to do. You feeling better now, sweetheart? Good. Then you should go home. You've got to do it sooner or later.”
Rosney nodded. “Come on, I'll walk with you as far the river.”
He led Tobin through a door that opened out behind the bar in the main room and they headed out into the street. It was drizzling outside, a light rain that seemed nevertheless to quickly permeate its way through their clothes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get sick.”
“It's not your fault. I should have been more careful. I appreciate you taking the time to listen to me though. It's good to know I do have a friend in the city.”
“Any time. I mean that. Especially if there is a drink in it!”
“Just as long as the earl doesn't decide to send me home in shame.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I really hope not. I've been thinking about what you said last night and there's something I'd like to do.” He explained his tentative plans to Rosney, who nodded.
“Have you got some time to spare? There’s someone I think you should meet.”
Tobin shrugged. “I’m late enough as it is. I doubt a little longer is going to make any difference.”
Rosney turned off the street they were walking down and headed up a steep alley. At the end of it he stopped at a non-descript brown wooden door and pushed it open. He beckoned Tobin into a small hallway that seemed even smaller than it actually was because it was lined on either side with large bookcases stacked full of books. Several piles of more books sat on the floor.
“Grandpa? Are you in?” Rosney called down the passage.
“Down here, boy,” came an answering call from the room ahead.
They followed the voice and came out in a small room that was even more cluttered than the hallway. There was a battered green armchair sat in the middle of the room facing the fireplace, with a small table next it. These were clear, but every other available surface was covered in piled of books, apart from one area in the far corner that was occupied by a strange wooden contraption.
“Is that a printing press?” Tobin enquired.
“It is indeed!”
Tobin turned to see a man emerge from behind a towering stack of literature. He looked to be in the later years of his life, bald as a coot but still spry and alert. He was wearing a pair of spectacles and there were another two sets sat on the top of his head. He was dressed in dusty trousers and a threadbare waistcoat that suggested previous wealth or perhaps extreme thrift. He looked Tobin up and down for a moment, before turning to Rosney.
“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Sure. Grandpa Words, this is Tobin Whitlaw. Tobin, Grandpa Words.”
He shook Tobin's hand firmly. “It's pleasure to meet you.”
“Grandpa runs a printing service for people who don't want to have the hassle of going through the sorceresses,” Rosney explained. “He also, as you might have noticed, collects books.”
“Rosney has no time for books,” Grandpa Words said with mock sadness. “I trust you think differently?”
Tobin nodded enthusiastically. “I love books.”
“Good. I'm glad you've started keeping better company, Rosney. What sort of things do you enjoy reading? Histories, or poetry perhaps? Or maybe romance?”
“Mostly books on engineering, though I like detective stories too.”
“Engineering, huh. Have a look at this.” He cleared a space on a cluttered table and spread something out. Tobin looked over his shoulder in curiosity.
“What is that?”
“This is a copy of the schematics of the Ars Arcana, the flagship of the sorceresses' fleet.”
Tobin was fascinated. “Where did you get something like this?”
“I don't really remember. People bring me things; they are aware that I collect books and other thing of interest, and they know I'll pay for them. I know everything I own, and where in the house it is. But I do forget where they came from.”
Rosney let them pour over the blueprints a bit longer then touched Tobin's shoulder.
“I'm sure this is enthralling but you've got to go home sooner or later.”
They parted company shortly afterwards and Tobin caught a cab back to the house. He wanted to change clothes and tidy up before speaking with the earl, but didn't want to risk running into Milo before he was ready. The idea that Rosney had planted in his the previous night had taken root strongly and what he did next would depend on whether or not he could accomplish it.
Fortunately the earl was agreeable, but that meant Tobin had no further excuse to put off apologising to his brother. He paused outside the door, fist raised to knock. In all his life he could not remember anything feeling as hard to do as actually striking the door. Eventually he just gave up and pushed it open. Milo was sat at his desk, his back to the door. He did not look round as Tobin entered.
“I heard you were back. It took you long enough to make your way up here.”
Milo's voice was flat; Tobin could detect no trace of emotion to help him with his apology. He swallowed.
“I needed to speak to the earl about something first, but I came here straight after. Milo, you have to know, those things I said yesterday. I didn't mean any of them. I just wanted to make you angry.”
“Well, you managed that spectacularly,” Milo commented dryly, standing up. “I have never been quite so angry.”
“Are ... are you still angry?” he asked timidly.
Milo sighed. “No. Not any more. I was for a while; after the party finished I didn't want to go home because I couldn't face the thought of dealing with you again. But when you didn't come home, all the angry turned into scared. I couldn't sleep last night: I was so sure you had gotten yourself killed.”
“I'm so sorry. I never meant for thing to turn out the way they did.”
“That's a start. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me. And maybe I should have been a bit more considerate of how you were feeling at the time. I still think most of your worries are just in your head though,” he added, poking his brother in the forehead. “You're so smart sometimes I think it knocks all the common sense out of your brain.”
Tobin felt a wash of relief and knew he was forgiven.
“You have to do something though,” Milo continued, his tone more serious now. “You can't keep acting like this.”
He nodded. “I know. That's why I needed to speak to the earl. He's agreed to sponsor my entrance to the university. Now all I need to do is find a suitable tutor (which I think I might have done;) and then actually pass the entrance exam.”
“University? What made you decide that?”
“Someone made me realise what my dream was and moreover that I could achieve it if I
really put my mind to it. Once I understood that, I haven't been able stop thinking about it. And I also realised that compared to all that, it didn't matter what anyone though of me. Anyone except you of course.”
Milo sat down on his bed, unsure how to take this news. He was pleased Tobin had come to the same conclusion and decided to make a change in his life and even more pleased that said change did not involve leaving the city and going home. But university?
“Aren't you still too young?”
“Not really. As long as I can pass the exam, it doesn't matter that I'll be a couple of years younger than most of the other applicants. I'll have to get Father's approval, but I don't see that being the difficult part of the plan.”
“How long will you stay there for? Will you have to live in the university itself?”
“Yeah. And it should be for three or four years, I think. Don't worry, I'll still come home for holidays and I'll write to you, too.”
Milo sighed. “If it's what you've set your heart on I won't stop you. I will worry about you though: you don't exactly have the best record for taking care of yourself.”
“It wasn't me who got shot,” Tobin protested sulkily.
“No, but it was you who almost died going for a ride in a thunderstorm.”
“Now you are just being melodramatic. Dr Foster said I didn't even have a scratch on me. I guess I'm just lucky.”
Milo sighed. “Sure. You're just lucky, that must be it.” He lay down on the bed, suddenly feeling tired. “You look a mess. Go and sort yourself out and leave me to rest.” He heard the dividing door close a few moments later. Luck had nothing to do with it, he knew. His brother's life was a debt that was still unpaid and the price of that debt remained undisclosed.
Milo lay on his bed for a while but it was clear that even though he had not slept the previous night, sleep would not be coming any time soon. From the other side of the partition door the sound of snoring told him Tobin had no such problem. Feeling frustrated, he got up and headed downstairs.
The morning's rain had blown over and the remaining patchy clouds could not completely block out the sun. Milo decided to take advantage of the improving weather and stepped out onto the stone patio that fronted the gardens. There was a stiff breeze in the air that carried with it warning of the impending winter. He wondered if they would see snow. It was rare in Blackwater, he could only remember three winters where any snow had fallen, but Tobin had said this side of the country was colder.
He saw Felicity ahead, walking near the last of the season's roses. For a moment he wondered if he should just pretend he had not seen her and leave; he did not feel in the best mode for company. But it seemed he was not as good at moving silently as she was, as she turned round and waved to him. Any chance to retreat to solitude lost, he walked over to her side.
“Have you spoken to your brother yet,” she enquired as he approached.
“Yes, we've talked, thank you.”
“Then, he has apologised and all is well between you?” When Milo said nothing she looked away, blushing slightly. “I'm sorry; I'm prying into things I have no business. You just seemed so sad this morning.”
“You are not prying, and I am grateful for your concern,” he assured her. “I'm just not sure how things stand between us at the moment. Yes, he apologised and I know he regrets the things he said, but the truth is words like are not do easily forgiven. But while I tried really hard to stay angry, it was just such a relief to see he was unharmed.” He sighed. “It's all just so mixed up in my head.”
“You said you could never stay mad at each other. But maybe you might feel better if you did loose your temper.”
“It's more than that this time.” He paused for a moment, then told Felicity about Tobin's accident and the subsequent debt to the sorceresses. “So you are probably right; I probably would feel better if I had shouted at him. But he's my little brother and I love him dearly and having almost lost him once, I couldn't bring myself to do it.”
“You could shout at me, if it would make you feel better,” she suggested quietly.
Milo laughed. “No, but talking to you has.”
She smiled in return. “I am glad,” she said, then shivered. “Perhaps we should go
inside?”
“Certainly.” She rested her hand on his arm and together they walked back towards the house together. Her touch was so light he could barely feel it through the fabric of his jacket. He was reminded of the sorceress back in Blackwater and found himself blushing.
“I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable, Master Whitlaw?” She commented with a smile.
He blushed harder. “No, not at all.” He could not think of a way to explain his actions
without making it worse, so decided to change the subject. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“The garden party, yesterday. Have you been to anything like that before?”
“Yes, many. My father is a close friend of the king, so we are regularly invited to the palace.”
“Are they always so... awkward? I mean, I was pretty distracted that day, but even I could tell that people we uncomfortable. It was like being in a room where everyone knows a secret but no one is prepared to talk about it.”
“I wondered if you would notice anything. The truth is the king is not terribly popular at the moment. Of course, no one will say anything out loud; even outside the palace no one wants to be seen as a trouble-maker. But everyone is unhappy nevertheless.”
“What are they unhappy about?”
They made there way inside, and Felicity led him to the conservatory without elaborating further. They made themselves comfortable on the wicker furniture and she summoned tea from a servant. The air in here was warm and still, and filled with the scents of a variety of house plants; Milo found himself feeling sleepy again.
“You wanted to know what people in the city are unhappy about?” Felicity said suddenly, startling him.
“Oh, um, yes.”
“Well, since the king came to the throne about five years ago, he's been determined to change the way the country is run. He's been over-turning the decisions of the sorceresses; encouraging new technologies; he even invited an entourage from Rhetland to visit a year ago. No one from outside our borders has ever been invited like that.”
“And that's what people are upset about?”
“He is trying to change things too fast!” she replied forcefully, slapping her hand down on the table with a loud thud. Seeing his shocked expression she forced a smile. “You have to understand, Milo, that I'm completely loyal to my king. But I love my country too. And I'm not the only one; lots of people feel the same way. We don't want to criticise our king, but we can't be happy about the changes he is trying to make.”
“I see,” Milo replied quietly. He was feeling somewhat disturbed by the propensity for people around him to suddenly reveal a hidden side. “I hadn't heard about any of that. What happen when the delegation from Rhetland came over?”
“They never made it. There was a storm and their ship sank just off the coast. There hasn't been another attempt since then. King Leonard was wrong and the sorceresses forced him to see this. No other country that we are aware of has sorceresses, so they are a valuable national asset and one that no doubt others would love to steal from us. That's one of the reasons its so important that our borders are protected.”
“I didn't realise that we were the only country with sorcery. The creation story implies that the descendants of the Forth Daughter spread out across the world.”
“Maybe they did. Maybe they all died out or they were killed. All we know is that they only seem to live here on Tobermoerai now. All the more reason for us to protect them and not take them for granted.”
Milo nodded. “I understand.” Something else occurred to him. “When we first arrived in the city, the coach driver was talking about something called The League of Concerned Citizens: people who protest technology and even throw themselves under trains. What is the king doing about them?”
“Nothing, and worse he does nothing to deal with their counterparts, those who feel we rely too much on the sorceresses and not enough on the skills of man. They have no breeding, but their machines bring them money so they buy their power and influence. Then they get everywhere: they are in the restaurants, hotels and spas; they turn up at events like yesterday's, with their gaudy clothes and loud voices; even the library and university. I don't know if you can understand what it is like, Milo, to watch all the things that were once the preserve of those who had been bred to appreciate and maintain them being over-run by just any one with no lineage at all?”
“People like Tobin, you mean?” he asked her quietly.
Felicity's face turned a deep shady of red. “No, of course not! I didn't mean to imply...” She stammered for a few moments more before she stopped and composed herself. “I'm sorry, Milo I was not thinking. I did not mean to include your brother in that group. To be honest I simply think of him as your kin, so he did not even cross my mind.”
“I understand you do not think of him that way. But it worries me that others do, especially now he has decided he wants to attend the university.”
“The university, really? When did he decide this?”
“Just this morning, but I've never seen him so determined about anything before.” He looked away, feeling embarrassed. “I'm ashamed to say as well as concern I am also more than a little jealous of his ambitions. I've never really thought much about my future, let alone been able to put any plans in motion towards it.”
“I understand your feelings,” she replied. “I know what it is like to be jealous of a sibling.”
“I didn't know you can any brothers or sisters,” Milo commented. “I don't believe I have ever met them.”
“No, you wouldn't have. I have two older sisters, both are sorceresses. Faith, my oldest
sister, has been one for many years now. Hope graduated last year. I don't see much of them; when they do come home they are usually too busy to spend much time with me. I'd love to join them, to gain the power of magic, but having two sorceresses in the family is exceptional; three would be unheard of. So I'm left to just dream about what it would be like to hold that kind of power.”
“Well, I'm quite glad you didn't, at least,” Milo commented. “Otherwise I wouldn't have got to meet you again.”
For a moment, her expression changed and Milo thought he saw something akin to rage in her eyes. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by her usual smile, leaving Milo to wonder if he had just imagined it.
“That is very kind of you to say.”
A servant arrived with a tray of tea and a plate of small, sweet biscuits. The china was delicately thin, patterned with a floral design and finished with a rim of gold. The woman poured them each a cup and the left without saying a word. Milo found her behaviour cold and somewhat rude, but he suspected if the situation was reversed Felicity would find the staff at Blackwater Hall overly familiar.
“How is your injury healing?” she inquired suddenly. “Is it still very painful?”
“It's not too bad now,” he replied. “Mostly it just aches a bit, though if I move the wrong way it hurts quite a bit.”
“You must think the city is a terrible place. I was worried you wouldn't want to stay after going through that.”
He shook his head. “It was completely my fault for getting in that situation. I lost track of the time and then tried to take a short-cut and got lost. I was foolish, and while I wouldn't say I got what I deserved, I should have been more careful. Thinking back, it was lucky there was someone around who was able to help, or it could have gone much worse for me. But I've no intention of going home any time soon. Not before the Genesis celebrations at least, but I think we'll have to go back for a few days then. I suspect my father will be feeling lonely in the house on his own and it will be a nice surprise.”
“Do you miss home?” she asked, watching him over the top of her tea cup. There was something almost feline in her features, in her expression, something exotic and tantalizing. She was very beautiful, he thought to himself. Milo had not had many opportunities to meet woman his own age. His father's reclusive nature meant there had been little socializing outside his immediate family. He wondered what he might have missed out on over the years.
“Well?” she prompted him, startling him from his reflections.
“A bit,” he admitted. “It's been strange not seeing my father for almost a week, but there's not much else in and around Blackwater to regret. Obviously, I'm glad Tobin is here too.”
“Even if he makes you worry?”
“I'm sure I'd worry more if he wasn't,” he replied. “It's the curse of being the eldest: you feel responsible for your younger siblings. I'm sure Faith feels the same way about you.”
She nodded, but there was something in her expression said she did not quite believe him. He guessed the years Felicity had spent apart from her sisters when they were at the academy must have damaged the bond between them. He wondered if the same had happened to Shana. Had she forgotten what life was like at home? Had that made it easier for her to take her life? He had not yet managed to fully forgive his sister's crime. If he could only learn what had happened that was so terrible she could not carry on living, he might be able to move on. But the letter from the sorceresses gave not hint; if his father knew anything he certainly would not say; and Tobin refused point blank to even discuss the matter.
“What's wrong?”
“I was just thinking about Shana," he admitted.
"I'm sorry. Talking about my own sisters must have reminded you of her."
"It's okay, I don't mind really; I rarely get to talk about her. Father never mentions her and even Tobin is uncomfortable with the subject. We go and put flowers on her grave every year on her birthday but that's about it. I'd like to just talk about the good times, before she went away, but I guess it's still to raw for the others. Do you know much about the academy? About what it's like to study there?"
She shook her head. "I never really asked about it. To be honest, I was so jealous I didn't want to hear anything about the academy." She finished her tea and stood up. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to leave you: I've been invited over to visit my friend this afternoon. Perhaps when I return we could continue our conversation and you could tell me more about your sister?”
Tobin woke the next morning and immediately wished he had not. The grimy window was not enough to prevent beams of light streaming through and each one felt light a knife driven into the back of his skull via the eyeball. He groaned and buried his head under the pillow. His mouth felt and tasted like he had slept with a sock in it, and there was a deeply unpleasant smell in the room.
He tried to remember exactly where he was. There previous night's memories seemed to be mostly missing, and those that were there were a blur. He remembered a room full of inexplicably irritated women, and before that... He groaned again, wondering why everything had seemed such a good idea yesterday.
“Morning!” said an odiously cheerful voice.
After a few minutes, Tobin risked peaking out from under the pillow. He was in a small room, obviously in the attic of the building. There was little furniture, just the bed, a large wardrobe and a slightly wonky table with a mirror and wash bowl. To his left he could see Rosney, who was leaning against the wall and eating something that seemed to be the source of the evil smell. He sat up slowly, wishing the room would stop swaying.
“What is that?”
Rosney looked down at the sandwich in his hand. “This? This is the best hangover cure in the world. It's a fried egg and dripping sandwich, with lots of piccalilli. I made you one too.” He offered him a plate and Tobin blanched. Rosney looked alarmed. “Hey, you can get out of my bed if you're going to throw up.”
“I'm fine. Just... Just take that away.”
“Suit yourself,” he replied, then proceeded to eat the other sandwich. “I sent a note to your house. The last thing I want is to get accused of kidnapping.”
“Thanks,” he said, resting his head in his hands. “Oh, Milo is going to kill me."
“Your brother? No, I think he'll forgive you. That's what family's do for each other. He might not let you forget it though.”
Tobin wanted nothing more than to put his head back under the pillow and return to the blissful ignorance of sleep, but that was not really an option, especially in someone else's home. Rosney offered to lend him some spare clothes, but they were several sizes too big. For a few minutes he could not decide which to choose: dirty clothes that fitted, or clean ones that did not. Rosney watched his dilemma with undisguised amusement. Eventually clean clothes won out.
“The kitchen is just downstairs,” Rosney advised. “I'll meet you down there.”
Tobin made his way gingerly down the steep staircase, which was lit only by the light coming through a little window at the top of the landing. The world had stopped spinning at least, but he still felt distinctly unsteady on his feet. At the bottom were several doors, but only one was open and he could smell food from within.
Inside he found a small nest kitchen, with a large aga one one side and an expansive round oak table in the centre. Katja sitting at the table eating porridge. She gave him a friendly wave, as if he were someone she had known for a long time, rather than someone she had met briefly. He sat down on a hard wooden chair next to her. She offered him the bowl of porridge and he shook his head.
“How are you feeling?”
He turned to see Dahlia standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on her face. Unlike the last time he had seen her, today she was dressed in a plain white blouse and long skirt decorated with roses. Her black hair was loose and fell in ripples down to her shoulders.
“Not good,” he admitted. “Is this normal? To feel this way after drinking alcohol?”
“It is if you go drinking with Ros. He doesn't mean any harm, but he forgets that most people don't have his tolerance for drink. His mother was just the same. Rose Black could drink men under the table and then go on to dance the night away, none the worse for any of it.” She handed Tobin a glass of water. “Drink that; you'll feel better soon enough.”
He accepted it gratefully. “I've never asked your name,” he realised.
“They call me Dahlia.”
“No, I mean your real name.”
She seemed amused by this. “It's Bryony. Bryony Greenlove.” She turned to the stove. “Did Rosney offer you breakfast? I've got some eggs here.”
The idea of eating, combined with the still-vivid memory of the smell of Rosney's sandwich was too much for Tobin. He turned away from the table and retched. Quickly, Bryony thrust a large bowl in his hands.
“Sorry kid. I guess that was a stupid question.” She patted his back ineffectually as he was violently sick.
“I'm so sorry,” he gasped.
“It's okay; we've all been there,” she assured him.
“I've been so stupid.”
“Maybe, but you don't know your limits until you run into them.”
He coughed once more then sighed and set the bowl aside. “It's not just last night, though that was pretty stupid. No, ever since I came to the city I've been behaving like an idiot. I've been acting like a spoilt child and now I may have damaged things in a way I can't repair.”
This wasn't how I was planning to spend my morning, Bryony though. Why do I seem to be constantly cleaning up other people's mess?
“Look, things always seem worse when you are hungover. You'll see; it won't be as bad as you fear. Besides, everyone makes mistakes: it's all part of growing up. Just learn from them and set them aside, don't let them define you.”
“You should listen to her, Tobin. Bryony's a smart woman.”
They both turned to see Rosney standing in the doorway.
“That I might be, but I'm also a woman with lots to do. You feeling better now, sweetheart? Good. Then you should go home. You've got to do it sooner or later.”
Rosney nodded. “Come on, I'll walk with you as far the river.”
He led Tobin through a door that opened out behind the bar in the main room and they headed out into the street. It was drizzling outside, a light rain that seemed nevertheless to quickly permeate its way through their clothes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get sick.”
“It's not your fault. I should have been more careful. I appreciate you taking the time to listen to me though. It's good to know I do have a friend in the city.”
“Any time. I mean that. Especially if there is a drink in it!”
“Just as long as the earl doesn't decide to send me home in shame.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I really hope not. I've been thinking about what you said last night and there's something I'd like to do.” He explained his tentative plans to Rosney, who nodded.
“Have you got some time to spare? There’s someone I think you should meet.”
Tobin shrugged. “I’m late enough as it is. I doubt a little longer is going to make any difference.”
Rosney turned off the street they were walking down and headed up a steep alley. At the end of it he stopped at a non-descript brown wooden door and pushed it open. He beckoned Tobin into a small hallway that seemed even smaller than it actually was because it was lined on either side with large bookcases stacked full of books. Several piles of more books sat on the floor.
“Grandpa? Are you in?” Rosney called down the passage.
“Down here, boy,” came an answering call from the room ahead.
They followed the voice and came out in a small room that was even more cluttered than the hallway. There was a battered green armchair sat in the middle of the room facing the fireplace, with a small table next it. These were clear, but every other available surface was covered in piled of books, apart from one area in the far corner that was occupied by a strange wooden contraption.
“Is that a printing press?” Tobin enquired.
“It is indeed!”
Tobin turned to see a man emerge from behind a towering stack of literature. He looked to be in the later years of his life, bald as a coot but still spry and alert. He was wearing a pair of spectacles and there were another two sets sat on the top of his head. He was dressed in dusty trousers and a threadbare waistcoat that suggested previous wealth or perhaps extreme thrift. He looked Tobin up and down for a moment, before turning to Rosney.
“Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Sure. Grandpa Words, this is Tobin Whitlaw. Tobin, Grandpa Words.”
He shook Tobin's hand firmly. “It's pleasure to meet you.”
“Grandpa runs a printing service for people who don't want to have the hassle of going through the sorceresses,” Rosney explained. “He also, as you might have noticed, collects books.”
“Rosney has no time for books,” Grandpa Words said with mock sadness. “I trust you think differently?”
Tobin nodded enthusiastically. “I love books.”
“Good. I'm glad you've started keeping better company, Rosney. What sort of things do you enjoy reading? Histories, or poetry perhaps? Or maybe romance?”
“Mostly books on engineering, though I like detective stories too.”
“Engineering, huh. Have a look at this.” He cleared a space on a cluttered table and spread something out. Tobin looked over his shoulder in curiosity.
“What is that?”
“This is a copy of the schematics of the Ars Arcana, the flagship of the sorceresses' fleet.”
Tobin was fascinated. “Where did you get something like this?”
“I don't really remember. People bring me things; they are aware that I collect books and other thing of interest, and they know I'll pay for them. I know everything I own, and where in the house it is. But I do forget where they came from.”
Rosney let them pour over the blueprints a bit longer then touched Tobin's shoulder.
“I'm sure this is enthralling but you've got to go home sooner or later.”
They parted company shortly afterwards and Tobin caught a cab back to the house. He wanted to change clothes and tidy up before speaking with the earl, but didn't want to risk running into Milo before he was ready. The idea that Rosney had planted in his the previous night had taken root strongly and what he did next would depend on whether or not he could accomplish it.
Fortunately the earl was agreeable, but that meant Tobin had no further excuse to put off apologising to his brother. He paused outside the door, fist raised to knock. In all his life he could not remember anything feeling as hard to do as actually striking the door. Eventually he just gave up and pushed it open. Milo was sat at his desk, his back to the door. He did not look round as Tobin entered.
“I heard you were back. It took you long enough to make your way up here.”
Milo's voice was flat; Tobin could detect no trace of emotion to help him with his apology. He swallowed.
“I needed to speak to the earl about something first, but I came here straight after. Milo, you have to know, those things I said yesterday. I didn't mean any of them. I just wanted to make you angry.”
“Well, you managed that spectacularly,” Milo commented dryly, standing up. “I have never been quite so angry.”
“Are ... are you still angry?” he asked timidly.
Milo sighed. “No. Not any more. I was for a while; after the party finished I didn't want to go home because I couldn't face the thought of dealing with you again. But when you didn't come home, all the angry turned into scared. I couldn't sleep last night: I was so sure you had gotten yourself killed.”
“I'm so sorry. I never meant for thing to turn out the way they did.”
“That's a start. I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me. And maybe I should have been a bit more considerate of how you were feeling at the time. I still think most of your worries are just in your head though,” he added, poking his brother in the forehead. “You're so smart sometimes I think it knocks all the common sense out of your brain.”
Tobin felt a wash of relief and knew he was forgiven.
“You have to do something though,” Milo continued, his tone more serious now. “You can't keep acting like this.”
He nodded. “I know. That's why I needed to speak to the earl. He's agreed to sponsor my entrance to the university. Now all I need to do is find a suitable tutor (which I think I might have done;) and then actually pass the entrance exam.”
“University? What made you decide that?”
“Someone made me realise what my dream was and moreover that I could achieve it if I
really put my mind to it. Once I understood that, I haven't been able stop thinking about it. And I also realised that compared to all that, it didn't matter what anyone though of me. Anyone except you of course.”
Milo sat down on his bed, unsure how to take this news. He was pleased Tobin had come to the same conclusion and decided to make a change in his life and even more pleased that said change did not involve leaving the city and going home. But university?
“Aren't you still too young?”
“Not really. As long as I can pass the exam, it doesn't matter that I'll be a couple of years younger than most of the other applicants. I'll have to get Father's approval, but I don't see that being the difficult part of the plan.”
“How long will you stay there for? Will you have to live in the university itself?”
“Yeah. And it should be for three or four years, I think. Don't worry, I'll still come home for holidays and I'll write to you, too.”
Milo sighed. “If it's what you've set your heart on I won't stop you. I will worry about you though: you don't exactly have the best record for taking care of yourself.”
“It wasn't me who got shot,” Tobin protested sulkily.
“No, but it was you who almost died going for a ride in a thunderstorm.”
“Now you are just being melodramatic. Dr Foster said I didn't even have a scratch on me. I guess I'm just lucky.”
Milo sighed. “Sure. You're just lucky, that must be it.” He lay down on the bed, suddenly feeling tired. “You look a mess. Go and sort yourself out and leave me to rest.” He heard the dividing door close a few moments later. Luck had nothing to do with it, he knew. His brother's life was a debt that was still unpaid and the price of that debt remained undisclosed.
Milo lay on his bed for a while but it was clear that even though he had not slept the previous night, sleep would not be coming any time soon. From the other side of the partition door the sound of snoring told him Tobin had no such problem. Feeling frustrated, he got up and headed downstairs.
The morning's rain had blown over and the remaining patchy clouds could not completely block out the sun. Milo decided to take advantage of the improving weather and stepped out onto the stone patio that fronted the gardens. There was a stiff breeze in the air that carried with it warning of the impending winter. He wondered if they would see snow. It was rare in Blackwater, he could only remember three winters where any snow had fallen, but Tobin had said this side of the country was colder.
He saw Felicity ahead, walking near the last of the season's roses. For a moment he wondered if he should just pretend he had not seen her and leave; he did not feel in the best mode for company. But it seemed he was not as good at moving silently as she was, as she turned round and waved to him. Any chance to retreat to solitude lost, he walked over to her side.
“Have you spoken to your brother yet,” she enquired as he approached.
“Yes, we've talked, thank you.”
“Then, he has apologised and all is well between you?” When Milo said nothing she looked away, blushing slightly. “I'm sorry; I'm prying into things I have no business. You just seemed so sad this morning.”
“You are not prying, and I am grateful for your concern,” he assured her. “I'm just not sure how things stand between us at the moment. Yes, he apologised and I know he regrets the things he said, but the truth is words like are not do easily forgiven. But while I tried really hard to stay angry, it was just such a relief to see he was unharmed.” He sighed. “It's all just so mixed up in my head.”
“You said you could never stay mad at each other. But maybe you might feel better if you did loose your temper.”
“It's more than that this time.” He paused for a moment, then told Felicity about Tobin's accident and the subsequent debt to the sorceresses. “So you are probably right; I probably would feel better if I had shouted at him. But he's my little brother and I love him dearly and having almost lost him once, I couldn't bring myself to do it.”
“You could shout at me, if it would make you feel better,” she suggested quietly.
Milo laughed. “No, but talking to you has.”
She smiled in return. “I am glad,” she said, then shivered. “Perhaps we should go
inside?”
“Certainly.” She rested her hand on his arm and together they walked back towards the house together. Her touch was so light he could barely feel it through the fabric of his jacket. He was reminded of the sorceress back in Blackwater and found himself blushing.
“I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable, Master Whitlaw?” She commented with a smile.
He blushed harder. “No, not at all.” He could not think of a way to explain his actions
without making it worse, so decided to change the subject. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“The garden party, yesterday. Have you been to anything like that before?”
“Yes, many. My father is a close friend of the king, so we are regularly invited to the palace.”
“Are they always so... awkward? I mean, I was pretty distracted that day, but even I could tell that people we uncomfortable. It was like being in a room where everyone knows a secret but no one is prepared to talk about it.”
“I wondered if you would notice anything. The truth is the king is not terribly popular at the moment. Of course, no one will say anything out loud; even outside the palace no one wants to be seen as a trouble-maker. But everyone is unhappy nevertheless.”
“What are they unhappy about?”
They made there way inside, and Felicity led him to the conservatory without elaborating further. They made themselves comfortable on the wicker furniture and she summoned tea from a servant. The air in here was warm and still, and filled with the scents of a variety of house plants; Milo found himself feeling sleepy again.
“You wanted to know what people in the city are unhappy about?” Felicity said suddenly, startling him.
“Oh, um, yes.”
“Well, since the king came to the throne about five years ago, he's been determined to change the way the country is run. He's been over-turning the decisions of the sorceresses; encouraging new technologies; he even invited an entourage from Rhetland to visit a year ago. No one from outside our borders has ever been invited like that.”
“And that's what people are upset about?”
“He is trying to change things too fast!” she replied forcefully, slapping her hand down on the table with a loud thud. Seeing his shocked expression she forced a smile. “You have to understand, Milo, that I'm completely loyal to my king. But I love my country too. And I'm not the only one; lots of people feel the same way. We don't want to criticise our king, but we can't be happy about the changes he is trying to make.”
“I see,” Milo replied quietly. He was feeling somewhat disturbed by the propensity for people around him to suddenly reveal a hidden side. “I hadn't heard about any of that. What happen when the delegation from Rhetland came over?”
“They never made it. There was a storm and their ship sank just off the coast. There hasn't been another attempt since then. King Leonard was wrong and the sorceresses forced him to see this. No other country that we are aware of has sorceresses, so they are a valuable national asset and one that no doubt others would love to steal from us. That's one of the reasons its so important that our borders are protected.”
“I didn't realise that we were the only country with sorcery. The creation story implies that the descendants of the Forth Daughter spread out across the world.”
“Maybe they did. Maybe they all died out or they were killed. All we know is that they only seem to live here on Tobermoerai now. All the more reason for us to protect them and not take them for granted.”
Milo nodded. “I understand.” Something else occurred to him. “When we first arrived in the city, the coach driver was talking about something called The League of Concerned Citizens: people who protest technology and even throw themselves under trains. What is the king doing about them?”
“Nothing, and worse he does nothing to deal with their counterparts, those who feel we rely too much on the sorceresses and not enough on the skills of man. They have no breeding, but their machines bring them money so they buy their power and influence. Then they get everywhere: they are in the restaurants, hotels and spas; they turn up at events like yesterday's, with their gaudy clothes and loud voices; even the library and university. I don't know if you can understand what it is like, Milo, to watch all the things that were once the preserve of those who had been bred to appreciate and maintain them being over-run by just any one with no lineage at all?”
“People like Tobin, you mean?” he asked her quietly.
Felicity's face turned a deep shady of red. “No, of course not! I didn't mean to imply...” She stammered for a few moments more before she stopped and composed herself. “I'm sorry, Milo I was not thinking. I did not mean to include your brother in that group. To be honest I simply think of him as your kin, so he did not even cross my mind.”
“I understand you do not think of him that way. But it worries me that others do, especially now he has decided he wants to attend the university.”
“The university, really? When did he decide this?”
“Just this morning, but I've never seen him so determined about anything before.” He looked away, feeling embarrassed. “I'm ashamed to say as well as concern I am also more than a little jealous of his ambitions. I've never really thought much about my future, let alone been able to put any plans in motion towards it.”
“I understand your feelings,” she replied. “I know what it is like to be jealous of a sibling.”
“I didn't know you can any brothers or sisters,” Milo commented. “I don't believe I have ever met them.”
“No, you wouldn't have. I have two older sisters, both are sorceresses. Faith, my oldest
sister, has been one for many years now. Hope graduated last year. I don't see much of them; when they do come home they are usually too busy to spend much time with me. I'd love to join them, to gain the power of magic, but having two sorceresses in the family is exceptional; three would be unheard of. So I'm left to just dream about what it would be like to hold that kind of power.”
“Well, I'm quite glad you didn't, at least,” Milo commented. “Otherwise I wouldn't have got to meet you again.”
For a moment, her expression changed and Milo thought he saw something akin to rage in her eyes. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by her usual smile, leaving Milo to wonder if he had just imagined it.
“That is very kind of you to say.”
A servant arrived with a tray of tea and a plate of small, sweet biscuits. The china was delicately thin, patterned with a floral design and finished with a rim of gold. The woman poured them each a cup and the left without saying a word. Milo found her behaviour cold and somewhat rude, but he suspected if the situation was reversed Felicity would find the staff at Blackwater Hall overly familiar.
“How is your injury healing?” she inquired suddenly. “Is it still very painful?”
“It's not too bad now,” he replied. “Mostly it just aches a bit, though if I move the wrong way it hurts quite a bit.”
“You must think the city is a terrible place. I was worried you wouldn't want to stay after going through that.”
He shook his head. “It was completely my fault for getting in that situation. I lost track of the time and then tried to take a short-cut and got lost. I was foolish, and while I wouldn't say I got what I deserved, I should have been more careful. Thinking back, it was lucky there was someone around who was able to help, or it could have gone much worse for me. But I've no intention of going home any time soon. Not before the Genesis celebrations at least, but I think we'll have to go back for a few days then. I suspect my father will be feeling lonely in the house on his own and it will be a nice surprise.”
“Do you miss home?” she asked, watching him over the top of her tea cup. There was something almost feline in her features, in her expression, something exotic and tantalizing. She was very beautiful, he thought to himself. Milo had not had many opportunities to meet woman his own age. His father's reclusive nature meant there had been little socializing outside his immediate family. He wondered what he might have missed out on over the years.
“Well?” she prompted him, startling him from his reflections.
“A bit,” he admitted. “It's been strange not seeing my father for almost a week, but there's not much else in and around Blackwater to regret. Obviously, I'm glad Tobin is here too.”
“Even if he makes you worry?”
“I'm sure I'd worry more if he wasn't,” he replied. “It's the curse of being the eldest: you feel responsible for your younger siblings. I'm sure Faith feels the same way about you.”
She nodded, but there was something in her expression said she did not quite believe him. He guessed the years Felicity had spent apart from her sisters when they were at the academy must have damaged the bond between them. He wondered if the same had happened to Shana. Had she forgotten what life was like at home? Had that made it easier for her to take her life? He had not yet managed to fully forgive his sister's crime. If he could only learn what had happened that was so terrible she could not carry on living, he might be able to move on. But the letter from the sorceresses gave not hint; if his father knew anything he certainly would not say; and Tobin refused point blank to even discuss the matter.
“What's wrong?”
“I was just thinking about Shana," he admitted.
"I'm sorry. Talking about my own sisters must have reminded you of her."
"It's okay, I don't mind really; I rarely get to talk about her. Father never mentions her and even Tobin is uncomfortable with the subject. We go and put flowers on her grave every year on her birthday but that's about it. I'd like to just talk about the good times, before she went away, but I guess it's still to raw for the others. Do you know much about the academy? About what it's like to study there?"
She shook her head. "I never really asked about it. To be honest, I was so jealous I didn't want to hear anything about the academy." She finished her tea and stood up. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to leave you: I've been invited over to visit my friend this afternoon. Perhaps when I return we could continue our conversation and you could tell me more about your sister?”