CHAPTER 3
CEONY ROSE EARLY THE next day without the help of Jonto, whom she found lurking suspiciously outside her bedroom after she had gotten dressed. She wore her red apprentice’s apron over a beige blouse and navy skirt, and had pinned her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, where the uniform top hat wouldn’t disturb it. She had enough time to prepare two fried-egg sandwiches and fluff Fennel’s bed before the buggy pulled up to the house, the driver casting a wary glance at the illusion of a dark mansion with broken shutters and sharp-eyed crows. He must have been new.
Emery didn’t appear until the buggy honked. He looked somewhat bleary-eyed.
“You really should go to sleep earlier,” Ceony commented as he locked the house. “Why did you stay up?”
“Just thinking,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“About what?”
He glanced at her, paused, and smiled. “As I said, I can’t give away all my secrets.”
Ceony rolled her eyes and hurried to the car. “I think there’s a good many hours in the daytime for thinking.”
Emery merely smiled a second time and helped her into the cab. Once they were comfortably settled, Ceony handed him his sandwich. The man really would have starved by now had Mg. Aviosky not appointed Ceony to his stewardship. She told him so as he chewed his first bite.
“A great many things would have been different without you, that is certain,” he replied.
Ceony mulled over his words for some hidden meaning, but deciphered none. Perhaps she really wasn’t as astute as she should be. She wondered if there was a spell for that.
It took the buggy two hours and Ceony and Emery eleven conversation topics, ranging from Ceony’s father’s new job as a facilities worker for the local water treatment plant to the mating habits of honeybees, to arrive in Dartford. Ceony had never before been to Dartford. She glanced out the window as they approached, soaking in the sight of the large, industrial-looking city. Narrow, cramped-looking homes and flats occupied both sides of nearly every street, and various factories, warehouses, and sparse trees lined the city’s perimeter. Dartford also had a very wide river with a port. Leaning forward, Ceony closed her eyes and held her breath as the buggy drove over a long suspended bridge, trying to block out all thoughts about the miles and miles of water beneath her. Emery placed a hand on her back for comfort, which he did not remove even after the buggy found solid land. Ceony made no comment, letting herself enjoy the subtle warmth of his fingers.
The driver pulled into a wide square paved with cobblestones, parking in a free spot amid a long line of automobiles and one unhitched carriage. When Ceony stepped out and looked for the paper mill, she saw only more flats, a butcher shop, a bookshop, a Polymaking—plastics—studio, and some sort of foreign-foods grocery store, all more squat and less colorful than similar buildings in the capital. Only the bank building reached more than one story high.
A breeze swept by, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned around and scanned the narrow street behind her, but saw only businessmen on their way to work and a small flock of flying mail birds, enchanted by some other Folder in a nearby city. Odd—for a moment, Ceony had experienced the distinct sensation of being watched.
“Where’s the mill?” Ceony asked after Emery paid the driver and began walking toward the square.
“It’s on the east side,” he answered. He jutted his chin forward, toward a short, faded red bus parked in the square. “The shuttle will take you there.”
Ceony paused. “Just me?”
Emery smiled, and Ceony spied mischief in his green eyes. “It’s a rather dreadful tour, and the place doesn’t smell too pleasant, either. I’m going to pass on this one.”
Ceony frowned. “You make it sound so exciting. Can’t I just read a book about it and skip?”
“Ceony, Ceony,” he said. “You do not yet know the marvels that wood chips and pulp have in store for you. There will be a test. This visit is a requirement of the Board of Education for Folders—elective credit for anyone else. As I told you, Magician Aviosky specifically requested your presence.”
Ceony pulled her top hat down farther on her head. “There’s a special place in heaven for people like you.”
Emery laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder.
“Ceony!” sang out a familiar voice.
Ceony looked toward the shuttle and spied Delilah, Mg. Aviosky’s apprentice, hurrying toward her. Emery quickly withdrew his hand from Ceony’s shoulder and stepped aside as the women greeted each other.
Delilah grabbed Ceony by the arms and kissed both her cheeks—French bisous—as she was wont to do. She was the perfect opposite of her buttoned-up mentor. While Mg. Aviosky had a rather uptight and proper demeanor, Delilah bubbled inside and out, and wore a smile that refused to ever leave her perfectly oval face. She had curled her sunny-blond hair, cut into a bob, and wore a sky-blue sundress beneath her apprentice’s apron. Ceony wasn’t tall, but Delilah stood a good two inches shorter.
“What are you doing here?” Ceony asked, watching from the corner of her eye as Mg. Aviosky approached Emery. “You’re studying glass!”
“Magician Aviosky says it’s proper to be well versed in all the materials,” Delilah said with a slight French lilt, her voice reminiscent of chiming bells. “She said you’d be coming. You don’t mind, do you?”
Ceony laughed. “Why would I mind? But it doesn’t look like it will be a very big group.”
Indeed, other than Magicians Aviosky and Thane and the bus driver, only three other apprentices—all male—had gathered by the bus, each wearing a long red vest instead of an apron. Ceony recognized two of them from her graduating class: George, a stocky man whose rimless glasses were propped on a short nose, and Dover, whose curly dark hair and tan skin had always won him the attention of Ceony’s female classmates in school. Ceony suspected their attention was why it had taken Dover the full three years to receive his diploma from Tagis Praff.
Delilah took Ceony by the hand and pulled her over to the bus. She greeted all three boys and introduced Ceony to the one that she hadn’t previously met. He was a tall, lanky fellow who reminded Ceony of Prit from Emery’s high school—the aspiring Folder whom Emery had bullied—except that he was a Pyre, a fire magician.
Delilah practically cooed Dover’s name, but he didn’t seem to mind. It surprised Ceony to learn that, like herself, both Dover and George had been assigned to paper, and George had obviously not come to terms with that fact.
“What a waste of time,” he grumbled, leaning back against the bus and folding his arms loosely over his chest. “Maybe if we all hold hands and stay quiet, someone will give us lollipops at the end of this nonsense.”
“A sour one for you,” Ceony quipped, then flushed upon hearing her own words. She had been spending far too much time around Emery. George’s ensuing scowl only punctuated that thought, though Dover turned away to hide a chuckle.
“It will be splendid,” Delilah said, hanging off Ceony’s right arm, “and great exercise, besides. I’ve always wondered how paper is made.”
“Deforestation,” George replied. Dover laughed, his perfect curls quivering with the effort. Clemson, the Pyre, merely scratched the back of his head.
Mg. Aviosky clapped her hands and said, “Everyone onto the shuttle. We are sending you without chaperone because you are adults; please remember that during your tour. The shuttle will meet you at the south entrance to the mill at noon. Don’t be tardy. Your participation in this event will be recorded for your permanent record.”
George cursed under his breath. Ceony met Emery’s eyes and shrugged, then allowed Delilah to lead her onto the bus.