“What else are we going to study?” Prin asked.
Maude gathered more items from her shelves, opened a drawer and pulled measuring cups and pliers out, and placed each beside the next as if preparing for surgery. She used a polish to wipe clean ever part of every tool, then wiped them with a white rag and examined each for residue. She said, “A little leftover from a spell on a tool can ruin your next attempt. You will read every day until Sara agrees it is enough. For me, you will work with Brice, and I will teach him fire, earth, air, and water. He has a decent start in fire, but will require so much more.”
“And me?” Sara asked.
“Oh, I think you will read also. I want to begin each of those journals, beginning with the first. You will mark each part that sounds interesting. Would one of you run out to the front window and see if your friend Jam, from the ship, is strolling near?”
Sara rushed through the doorway.
Prin said, “I have half a mind to go walk right past him and see if he recognizes me.”
Maude smiled wanly, and stated in a mild voice, “Yes, that would take half a mind.”
“It was him,” Sara said. “He was trying to sneak up to the front and peek inside. I pulled the curtains when I was beside the window. He took off running.”
Maude said, “I thought the direction-sensation of the spell felt strong. He’s a cheeky little boy, isn’t he? Peeking into my windows. I wonder what the constable will say to that if I tell him?”
They fell into a daily routine of study, learning, and excitement. Maude insisted they work hard, even while she went to the market. Twice she returned with stories of Jam following her. She replaced the tag spell every few days, and as he became bolder, she created a new spell that she sprinkled on him, one that temporally removed his sense of direction. He became lost for two full days.
But as the departure date for the Merry Princess drew closer, Jam grew more desperate. He once tried climbing the garden wall and wore bandages from the cuts on his arm and hand from the broken glass on top. He then carried a ladder to the wall and tried again, but Maude rushed into the garden with a spell in hand. After casting it over the wall to the top of the ladder, she returned, laughing.
When asked, she said, “The boy will climb and climb, but never reach the top of the wall. With each step, the wall will grow a step higher.”
Brice’s studies went well. He learned to control the shimmer around his hair until none of them could detect it. He could create fire at will, but only by casting. He could not create a flame on his finger without burning himself. By the end of the second week, he could make a dry sponge wet, and he could use his mind to sharpen a blade so it would cut through a small tree with one swing.
However, having learned a few basics of those three elements, air eluded him. Even the most basic of spells failed. He could neither warm or cool air. He couldn’t make it flow as in a breeze, or prevent one. He could not create thunder, or storms, of course, but even a puff of air was beyond his abilities.
However, the story he’d told about the drought at his home, and the rain on his family’s farm, belied his attempts. He’d told another about a wind pushing two boys back a step, so in some manner, there was evidence he had the ability. He made it rain, so they all believed the ability was there, but perhaps not the maturity to control it. And maybe another mage could teach him—or he’d learn on his own in another year or two.
Maude continually tried to keep him learning more about the other three elements, adding complexities to his lessons, but he was like a boy who insisted on eating the last slice of peach cobbler. He wanted it. So, Brice wasted part of each day trying to gain at least a small amount of control over the air and failed.
However, he resigned himself to the sea voyages and trusted that Maude would research his missing use of the fourth element while he was gone. As the time passed, he seemed to look forward to the trip—even though his study and use of all mage magic would cease until his return.
Prin had her new Treeman in the back yard, and a new knife to practice with, but her old knife, the one she wore, had now been enchanted by Maude and would never miss her target. Still, she practiced daily, especially once a retired knight hobbled up to their door. He took her into the garden where space had been cleared of stone paths and shrubbery by Maude. The old man with one foot missing, first taught her how to fall, then to take a punch, get stabbed, cut, and heal from a black eye.
He growled, “I will not tell you my name. We are not to become friends. I want you to hate me, to want to fight against me and win. You cannot do that with a friend.”
“Why?”
“Because defending yourself in real life often hurts. You cannot stop a fight because of a little pain.”
Prin placed her hands on her hips, now the hips of an eighteen-year-old girl. “Then what will I call you?”
“There are only two of us. What does it matter what you call me?” He leg-swept her feet from under her, and she landed in a heap.
“What if I call you cripple?”
“What if you have to pick yourself up from the ground a few more times?”
She got her feet under her, but instead of standing, she charged, head low, shoulder aimed at his middle. But when she reached where he should be, he was not. His hand gave her a slap on her butt as she stumbled past, and that was enough for her to sprawl face first in the grass as he laughed and taunted.
Prin climbed to her feet slowly and wiped some of the leaves and grass off. Fists balled, she stalked him, not allowing him to escape. Once in range, she swung.
The cripple pulled his head back just enough to avoid the fist. But, she had another already swinging. He moved out of range of that one without effort, too. His left arm shot out, palm open, and struck her on the shoulder, sending her staggering back two steps. She regained her balance and charged, arms spread wide to embrace him and drag him to the ground where she could pummel the smile from his face.
Instead, she ran into his braced, extended arm, and he shoved back. She landed on her butt again.
He turned and limped to the doorway where Maude held a steaming cup of tea waiting for him. Over his shoulder, he called with a chuckle, “That’s all for today. I’m worn out.”
They entered the house with Prin still sitting on the grass, her hand wanting to reach for the knife she wore between her shoulder blades. Not really. Then she changed her mind. No, really.
He had been abrupt, rude, insensitive, and no gentleman. She would have bruises from one end to the other. Her shoulder hurt. One leg was too sore to walk without a limp. He was going to hear about it when he returned for the next lesson if beating a girl was considered a lesson. Her mind turned sneaky and devious. Yes, there were things she could do. He didn’t know who he was messing with.
He walked on a stump, a foot made of wood to look like a boot. She was faster and had two feet, and she was younger. She stood and realized that both Brice and Sara were watching her from the window. Let them enjoy themselves. Maybe she could find a spell to blanket the window.
The next morning the one-legged man returned before they ate their morning meal. Prin was sitting at the table when he strode inside as if he owned the house and kicked the legs out from under her chair on his way to the backyard, never saying a word. She sputtered, ignored the smiles of the others, and climbed to her feet. He’ll pay for that.
He was waiting for her, standing beside the door, off to one side where she didn’t see him until she ran out and her legs became tangled as she tripped. She slowly climbed to her feet and moved closer, calculating her next move. His hands were held limply at his sides, and she concealed her next attack with a smile and smooth movements until she was close enough to spring her trap.