The Master Magician

“Her apprentice?” Ceony whispered. She wondered at their ages, but the article didn’t say, nor did it give the name of the apprentice. At least the newspaper had decided to only publicly humiliate one of the two.

The writer also mentioned a Mg. Jumaane Ibori, a Smelter, who had been accused of extramarital relations with his apprentice, though solid evidence had yet to be collected.

Were these two scandals what caused the change, or have there been others? She thought again about Emery, Zina.

She read the article in its entirety; the new rule was being put into effect in time for the new school year at Tagis Praff, which would allow most apprentices to transfer at or near a year mark, and would supposedly make their transitions easier.

September 14. Only three months away. If Ceony didn’t pass her magician’s test, she’d certainly be transferred. Only for a short time, but the thought didn’t comfort her.

Shaking herself, Ceony rolled up the newspaper and dropped it in front of the door. She wondered if Emery had read today’s paper yet. What he thought about the article.

Two minutes short of an hour later, she heard the door down the hall open. Rising from her seat, Ceony peeked around the corner and watched six policemen and the older gentleman exit the room and head toward the front of the building. None of them spoke, save for a whispered exchange between two of the London officers.

Ceony watched them go, counted to twenty, and then walked back down the hall. Checking for bystanders and finding none, she slipped into the room and found her mirror tile resting against the edge of a very old rug. She scooped it up and hurried outside, passing one of the officers on her way out, receiving nothing more than a glance. After all, there was more than one administrative office in the council building, and she could have come from any of them.

Ceony hurried to a church down the street and staked out a quiet spot on an outdoor bench before enchanting the mirror in her hands. “Reflect, past,” she said. While the mirror’s silvery surface showed her only the white ceiling, the officers’ voices rang with adequate clarity.

She listened as one man recounted the demise of Mg. Cantrell—a story that made Ceony wince. She held on to every detail. She couldn’t afford to miss anything.

Another voice spoke of an Indian man arrested in Aylesbury two days ago, who’d turned out to be a businessman with a mere resemblance to the infamous Excisioner. Then they brought up the story of a Mr. Cliff Prestonson, whose body had been found drained of blood in the passenger seat of his own automobile.

“His wallet and briefcase were missing,” a bass voice explained. “As far as we can tell, none of the banknotes have been used in Aylesbury.”

A tenor added, “But the witness claims the attacker—matching Prendi’s description—abandoned Prestonson’s vehicle and tried two more before starting the engine of a Ford Model A. I assume Prendi couldn’t find Prestonson’s keys on his person.”

“Wait, a witness?” asked another tenor.

“It’s in my report, sir,” replied the man. “She asked not to have her name disclosed, but she saw an Indian man follow Prestonson out to his vehicle and then grab him by the back of the neck. Prestonson reacted as though he’d been stabbed, though the witness saw no knife. The attacker pulled Prestonson into the passenger seat of the car, then emerged about a quarter of an hour later. He proceeded to steal the Ford—it belongs to an Ernest Hutchings, whose statement I have here—and take the highway toward Brackley.”

Brackley, Ceony thought with a shiver. Brackley sat northwest of London and Aylesbury.

“When?” asked the second tenor.

The bass replied, “Four o’clock this last night, sir.”

Ceony palmed the mirror and rose from the bench. Changing her allegiance to rubber, she enchanted her shoes and took off for Brackley. At the pace the Siping spell carried her, she imagined she’d reach the town before the officers did.

Whether or not that was a good thing, she wasn’t sure.



The spell was exhilarating.

Ceony’s enchanted shoes turned the world into mosaics of color and sound as she whipped through it, taking the long way around towns to avoid running into anything substantial, though she did trip over a gopher hole near Stratton Audley. Each step made her skin pull tight and her skirt fly behind her; Ceony held it down with either fist for the sake of modesty.

Ceony wondered if such spells were the reason Mg. Hughes had become a Siper.

She arrived in good time. Brackley, northwest of Aylesbury, was a small town. As soon as Ceony arrived at the edge of a groomed park near a tree swing, she removed the spell from her shoes.