Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2) Read online

  BRINGERS OF MAGIC

  ARUCADI, BOOK 2

  E. ROSE SABIN

  ARUCADI ENTERPRISES, LLC

  2019

  BRINGERS OF MAGIC

  E. ROSE SABIN

  ©2013

  Reprinted 2019

  ARUCADI ENTERPRISES, LLC

  COVER ART BY IGOR DEŠIĆ, ©2018

  All rights reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  STICKS AND STONES

  WELCOME TO CAREY

  HIDE AND SEEK

  UNEXPECTED VISITORS

  THREATS AND PROMISES

  EXPLORATION AND DISCOVERY

  PARTNERS

  CONVERSATIONS

  BOOKS

  VOICES

  PUZZLES AND PREMONITIONS

  NIGHT SEARCH

  DAY AND NIGHT

  ACTS OF COURAGE

  FEAR AND FRUSTRATION

  INTO THE UNKNOWN

  EVIL

  TRIALS AND DECISIONS

  WAITING

  DETOURS

  CONVERGENCE

  MEETINGS

  FIRE

  PARTINGS

  EXCERPT: A MIX OF MAGICS

  FOR THOSE WHO WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ARUCADI

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  STICKS AND STONES

  Ed stopped sweeping the hall and leaned against his broom, caught up in the tale Miss Leah was telling her class of eight- and nine-year-olds. Miss Leah never minded if he eavesdropped on her lessons, and this was the kind of story he loved, with witches and dragons and a prince with a sword. A story about magic.

  “Edwin, you won’t get your work done like that.”

  He jumped and pushed the broom past the doorway of Miss Leah’s classroom before he turned and faced his accuser. “I’m sorry, Miss Abigail,” he mumbled, avoiding the woman’s stern gaze.

  “She shouldn’t be filling the children’s heads with that sort of nonsense, and you should not be listening to it. It’s bad enough for children, but you aren’t a child anymore. You are nineteen years old. You must behave like an adult.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, trying to move farther from the door so Miss Abigail’s firm whisper could not be heard in the classroom. He didn’t want Miss Leah to hear what Miss Abigail said about her stories. Miss Abigail and Miss Leah disagreed about many things, though they never got real angry with each other. It made him sad and confused when they argued. He could never figure out who was right.

  He liked Miss Leah. She never fussed at him, never chased him away when he paused at her door to listen to a lesson. She even helped him sometimes with his reading and sums. She didn’t think he was too simple to learn, like other people said.

  Miss Abigail didn’t think so either. If it had been an arithmetic lesson or a spelling drill he’d been listening to, she wouldn’t have said anything. Miss Abigail was all hard edges, not soft and gentle like Miss Leah. She could be mean sometimes, and make him do a chore all over again if she didn’t like the way he’d done it the first time. But she wasn’t bad, not at all. She’d saved him from being sent to the workhouse when his pa died, giving him the janitor’s job at her Dormer Primary School for Young Ladies, though people like Councilor Hardwick and Councilor Slamm declared he’d never learn the work. She’d shown him patiently what was expected of him, one step at a time until he got it, and although she scolded him when he made mistakes, she never beat him and told him how stupid he was, the way his pa used to do.

  “Come to my office when you finish sweeping this corridor, Edwin,” Miss Abigail said. “I have another task for you.”

  He nodded, and she marched away, leaving him to worry about the “new task” and whether she meant it as punishment for listening to Miss Leah’s storytelling.

  He hoped he hadn’t got Miss Leah into trouble. Miss Abigail might not have noticed what Miss Leah was reading to the children if he hadn’t drawn her attention to it by eavesdropping. Though maybe she would have heard anyway. Not much escaped Miss Abigail’s notice.

  Miss Abigail said that children should read “real life tales” with “didactic purpose,” whatever that meant, while Miss Leah said that children needed stories that “stimulated their imaginations.”

  He’d asked Miss Leah what that meant, and she’d said, “It means that children need to learn to make pictures in their heads, pictures of things they’ve never seen, of things nobody has ever seen. If they learn that when they’re little, when they grow up they can make new things because they can picture them first in their heads. That’s called inventing, Ed. People have to have imagination to be able to invent new things.”

  “You mean someday somebody might invent a dragon or a flying carpet?”

  Miss Leah laughed. “Well, not those things exactly, but maybe something like them.” He’d thought she was laughing at him, but she hurried to explain, “Somebody made up a picture of a train in his head, maybe getting the idea from stories about a dragon, who knows? From that picture in his head he figured out how to build a train engine and attach cars to it, and now we have trains to make it easy to travel across our whole big country. A trip that took months by horse-drawn wagon can be made in days. All because an inventor used his imagination.”

  He thought about that while he pushed his broom. They called him simple, but he could make pictures in his head. All his life he’d done that to escape the pain of his pa’s beatings. He had a special place he always pictured, not anywhere he’d ever really been, but a pretty place with trees and flowers and birds and a cool stream he could bathe in and friendly animals he could talk to. With all the time he’d spent in that place, he could describe it as well as he could describe downtown Carey. Better, even. There were lots of places in Carey he’d never seen, places where he wasn’t allowed. In his own special place he knew every stone, every leaf, every rill and hollow. He knew the best fishing spots, the best trees for climbing, and the best grassy slopes to roll down. He was too big to climb trees and roll down hills, Miss Abigail said. He was grown up and had to act like an adult. But in his private place he could do anything he wanted, and nobody could scold him or tell him he was behaving like a child.

  Best of all, he could go there in his mind while his body was scrubbing floors or washing windows or sweeping halls.

  He reached the end of the corridor, swept the pile of dirt into his dustpan, and carried it outside to dump under a tree. Wiping his dirty hands on his trousers, he came back in and headed down the hall toward Miss Abigail’s office.

  He passed old Miss Dorey’s room, where the children were reciting in unison, “North Woods Province, capital Dabney, patron god Nisil; Port Province, capital Port-of-Lords, patron god Ondin; Wide Sands Province, capital Marquez, patron god Arene.” He wanted to linger and chant along with them, proud that he’d learned all twelve of Arucadi’s provinces, their capitals, and patron gods. But it wouldn’t do to keep Miss Abigail waiting.

  He knocked on her office door until he heard her call, “Come in,” then entered and stood in front of her desk, hands hanging at his sides.

  Miss Abigail was writing a letter, her loops and lines and curls marching neatly across the unlined paper like well-trained schoolgirls. She finished a line, put a precise period at its end, and looked up. “For goodness sakes, Edwin, straighten your shoulders and look up at me. You aren’t here to be chastised.”

  Miss Abigail often used big words he didn’t understand, but at least she n
ever talked down to him. He shifted from foot to foot and said nothing.

  She sighed. “You have no need to be frightened, Edwin. I’m not angry with you. You learn by listening to the lessons the teachers present. I’m pleased that you want to learn, and as long as you do not shirk your tasks, I shan’t reprimand you. However, you waste your time when you listen to fantasy tales. You will learn nothing from them, and they may do you harm. Do you understand?”

  He nodded, though he didn’t see how Miss Leah’s stories could harm him, and he did learn from them. But he didn’t dare say so to Miss Abigail. He would just have to be more careful about listening in at story time.

  “Now, Edwin, I called you here because I want you to run an errand for me.” She blew on the paper she had written to dry the ink, and then folded the letter in half. “I want you to take this note to Councilor Hardwick. He should be in his office in the town hall. Hand it directly to him.” She held out the note.

  He did not take it. Instead, he shuffled his feet, lowered his gaze again, and said, “Councilor Hardwick doesn’t like me, Miss Abigail. He won’t let me in.”

  “Nonsense. You are going to him as my representative. If he objects, you may tell him that. In a courteous manner, of course. This message is important, and the councilor must see it today. Some of the girls are spreading rumors that the charlatans who have caused so much trouble in North Woods Province are coming here. As council master, Councilor Hardwick must be informed. There may be no truth to the rumors, but we must be on the alert. If they do come, the council must send them away before they can perform their magic tricks and confuse our people as they have confused the people of North Woods.”

  Ed didn’t understand all of what she said, but he understood “magic tricks.” He’d heard stories travelers told about two women wonder workers in North Woods Province. His head snapped up and he couldn’t hold in his excitement. “Coming here?” he asked. “The wonder workers are coming to Carey?”

  “So Lucinda Mason heard from her aunt, who’s just come back from a trip to Dabney in North Woods. But you needn’t get excited about it. There are no true wonder workers, Edwin, only tricksters who prey upon the public.” She took a cloth from her desk drawer and cleaned the point of the pen she’d used to write her letter.

  “If they pray, how can they be bad?” Ed asked, scratching his head.

  “Keep your fingers out of your hair, Edwin,” Miss Abigail said, vigorously polishing her pen nub. “I mean that they cheat the public. People pay them money to see their feats of supposed magic, but what they see are only clever tricks, sleight of hand, well-designed illusions.”

  Ed clasped his hands behind his back to keep from raising them to his head and running them through his hair. Miss Abigail hated to see him do that. “Some women at the greengrocer’s said the wonder workers can catch light in their hands. They can fly through the air on the wind.”

  “That’s nonsense, Edwin. No one can do such things. Don’t be so gullible.”

  He knew what that word meant. She’d used it before. Once when Old Jake the carpenter had sent him looking for a board stretcher and another time when the little Farley sisters convinced him that eating an apple from the tree by the creek would make him able to walk on water. Nora, the older sister, demonstrated by taking a bite of the apple and stepping out onto the creek. When he tried it, he fell into the water and got his work clothes soaking wet. Miss Abigail found and pointed out to him the stone that lay under the surface of the water where Nora had stood. She punished the two students, but they still teased him when no teacher was around.

  “I’m certain Councilor Hardwick will not tolerate the presence of the tricksters in Carey.” Again she held out the note. This time he took it. “Go at once, Edwin. You must reach the councilor before he leaves his office. See that you hurry back with whatever answer he gives you. No stopping anywhere along the way.”

  “May I ride Bitsy or Mite?” Ed loved to ride, and the chance to saddle one of Miss Abigail’s horses and ride to town would make the errand bearable.

  But Miss Abigail shook her head. “I’m sorry, Edwin. Miss Leah is scheduled to give riding lessons to some of the girls right after school. She’ll need all three horses for that, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t be back in time.”

  Ed tried not to show his disappointment. It was a long walk into town, and the day was warm for autumn. He’d known about the lessons, of course, but he rode well, and he was certain he could get back by the time the lessons were to start. But Miss Leah would want all the horses fresh for the students, so Miss Abigail was right in refusing him their use.

  He did hurry, as Miss Abigail had instructed, but all the way he hoped that Councilor Hardwick had left early or that he would refuse to let Ed come in to deliver the note. Ed wanted the wonder workers to come to Carey. He wanted to see their magic, to judge it for himself. Probably it wasn’t real, and he was gullible like Miss Abigail said. But maybe, just maybe, they did have real magic powers like the magicians in Miss Leah’s stories.

  Orville Hardwick’s frown at the columns in his ledger deepened when a knock interrupted his figure juggling. He gave an exasperated sigh, threw down his pen, and carefully rearranged his features into a smile before calling out, “Come in.”

  As he expected, his secretary entered. Jerome closed the door behind him and answered Hardwick’s smile with a broad one of his own. “Simple Eddie’s asking to see you, sir. He has a message from Abigail Dormer that he insists he must deliver directly to you. I tried to persuade him that he could trust me to give it to you, but it’s useless to argue with a simpleton.”

  “Old Abigail must have put the fear of the gods into him, if he’s that determined to see me.” Hardwick chuckled. “He’s scared of me, terrified I’ll still find a way to get him into the workhouse. Better send him in; it wouldn’t do to anger Miss Abigail.”

  Jerome looked a bit disappointed, but turned to obey his employer. Through the open door Hardwick heard him instruct Eddie, “Go in and hand him Miss Abigail’s letter, then leave. Councilor Hardwick is a busy man.”

  Eddie shuffled into the office, his gaze on the floor, one hand in his hair, which already resembled a careless haystack, the other hand outstretched in front of him, a folded sheet of stationery grasped between thumb and forefinger. “Miss Abigail sent me to give this to you,” he mumbled, coming only as close as necessary to allow the councilor to pluck the missive from his hand.

  Hardwick took the paper and waved it like a flywhisk. “All right, you’ve done as Miss Abigail bade you. You may leave.”

  Eddie didn’t move. His fingers tortured his hair. “Miss Abigail said I was to wait for an answer, Master Councilor, sir.”

  At least Abigail had drilled some manners into the fool. But if she thought to soften his attitude toward the boy she was wasting her time. He belonged in the workhouse where he’d be kept under constant supervision, not wandering around a school for young girls. How old was he? Eighteen? Nineteen? A dangerous age, with no sense to restrain its impulses. It was utterly irresponsible of Abigail Dormer to protect him as she did.

  The sound of Eddie’s thick-soled shoes scuffing the hardwood floor recalled him to the matter at hand. He flipped open the folded letter and scanned its contents. Scowling, he leaned back in his desk chair and read the letter again more carefully. All the while Eddie’s shifting feet created a background irritation like the buzz of an annoying fly. “Tell Miss Abigail—” he began, then broke off. “No, you’d never remember. Just a minute. And hold your feet still or you’ll have to polish my floor before you go.”

  “I’m sorry, Master Councilor, sir. I didn’t mean to dirty nothing. I’ll polish the floor now if you want.”

  The poor fool had turned crimson. Good, let him know he wasn’t fit to associate with normal people. “I don’t know what kind of job you’d do. Wouldn’t want the floor damaged worse. And doesn’t Miss Abigail teach you to keep your fingers out of your hair?”

  Ha
rdwick almost laughed aloud to see Eddie jerk his hand from his unruly thatch so fast he pulled out whole strands of the strawy mess. The boy’s eyes turned watery and he blinked several times. “Could I have the note, sir, and I’ll get out of your way?” The voice was a mere whisper.

  “I’d like nothing better, but I haven’t been able to write it with you shuffling about, scraping my floor. Stand still, for the gods’ sake. And don’t sniffle! Don’t you carry a handkerchief?” He took a few moments to enjoy the boy’s discomfiture before picking up his pen, extracting a piece of official stationery from his desk drawer, and composing an answer to Abigail Dormer’s request.

  He wrote thoughtfully, all the while staying attuned to the rustles and sniffs that betokened Eddie’s miserable presence. Satisfied at last by the ambiguity of his careful wording, he dipped his pen into the inkwell one last time and with a flourish affixed his signature and paraph to the note. He sprinkled sand over the letter, waited for it to absorb the excess ink, and neatly funneled it back into the shaker. Finally he folded the note and looked up at Eddie. “Mind that you don’t lose this or get it dirty. Don’t wad it up and stuff it into your pocket. Carry it carefully. Are your hands clean?”

  Eddie displayed his hands without speaking. They were shaking.

  “Your nails could stand cleaning. No, don’t do it now.” He emitted an exaggerated sigh. “If you do get it dirty, perhaps Miss Abigail will select her messenger more prudently in the future. Go. Get out of here.”

  Eddie grabbed the letter and bolted from the office. Hardwick indulged himself in a vigorous laugh before calling for Jerome.

  “Miss Abigail has heard rumors that the wonder workers who’ve caused all the stir in North Woods Province are coming here,” he informed his secretary. “She has urged me to have them met at the train and prevented from deboarding. I told her we would watch for them with great vigilance, and we shall indeed. If they are, as she suspects, charlatans who wish only to defraud our citizens, rather than sending them away to practice their deception elsewhere, we shall imprison them and bring them to trial. If, however, they should be genuine …” He let his voice trail off, lost in dreams of possibilities.