“And then bring me a mug of kava,” Master Antony ordered. “And then ...”
Gennady hurried away, understanding—all too well—why the real shop-boys hadn’t tried to drive him away. Master Antony was just too demanding, even for them. Gennady found the supplies, then slipped up to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Master Antony insisted on using a real kettle, hanging over a stove, rather than using spells to heat his water. Gennady didn’t understand why. He’d seen the master use a wand to cast spells over the last few weeks.
He poured the steaming water into a mug and carried it downstairs, resisting the urge to spit in it before handing the drink to his master. Master Antony would notice—of course—and then ... and then what? Gennady had no idea, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like it when he found out. Instead, he passed the drink to Master Antony and hurried into the backroom before Master Antony could find something else for him to do. There was a stack of books he needed to sort before they could be put up for sale. He’d been doing that when he hadn’t had anything more important on the list.
And most of the books are outdated, he thought. They were still expensive. Even Charlus would hesitate to splash out and spend hundreds of gold pieces on a single book. That doesn’t mean they’re not useless.
He glanced through a pair of old textbooks, one marked with a name he vaguely recognised, and shrugged. They’d be helpful, if someone didn’t have anything more modern. Gennady put them to one side, for Master Antony to price and stick in the window, then worked his way through a selection of scrolls. They detailed potion recipes, ranging from very simple brews to fantastically complex pieces of work Gennady couldn’t even begin to follow. He wasn’t even sure if they were real. They seemed to insist the brewer should be breaking rules Gennady’s tutors had drummed into him from the very first day.
Master Antony will have to look at them, Gennady decided, as he put them on the desk. And ...
A strange sensation, as if he’d touched something ... uncanny, ran up his arm as he brushed his fingers against a small leather-bound volume. It looked like a journal, although there was neither a school crest nor a personalised emblem anywhere to be seen. He cast a pair of spells to check for traps, but there were none. There were a couple of spells that clung to the covers, only one of which he recognised. It was designed to keep the book safe, even in the midst of a fire. The other ... his fingers tingled again as he opened the book, glancing at the handwritten notes inside. It felt ... it felt as if he was doing something deliciously naughty, something he knew he shouldn’t be doing but was going to do anyway. It was a strange feeling, both good and bad. He wasn’t sure he liked it.
The handwriting was better than his, but not by much. Gennady had to struggle to make out the words, then parse the sentences for meaning. Whoever had written the notes—he was sure, now, it was a scholarly journal—had been trying to conceal their work behind a facade of incomprehensibility. Gennady felt a twinge of fellow feeling. He’d been trying to do the same to hide his work from Charlus, although he rather suspected Charlus wasn’t stupid enough to copy Gennady’s homework. Gennady really wasn’t as good at magic theory as Charlus and they both knew it.
He frowned as the collection of rites and rituals sank into his awareness. There were nasty charms to use on one’s enemies—he made a note of two of them, intending to use them on Charlus as soon as possible—and rituals designed to boost one’s power. Gennady read them carefully, realising—with a thrill of excitement—that he could use them. He wanted to use them. No matter how hard he worked, Charlus had a big head start. The idea of catching up was very tempting. And the rituals were supposed to be safe. He and his friends could use them without risk.
His fingers tingled, again, as he closed the book. There was no way he could buy it. Once Master Antony realised what he had, he’d slap a huge price on it. Gennady swallowed hard, feeling his heart start to race as he contemplated stealing the book. If he was caught ... he’d seen a man put in the stocks and stoned for stealing. But Master Antony was a magician. He could do things that would be worse than death. Gennady swallowed, torn between fear of his master and the grim awareness that he’d never have a better chance to learn the rituals he needed. They weren’t taught at Whitehall. Housemaster Fredrick had made that quite clear.
He swallowed, again and again. If he was caught ... he hesitated, then stood and carried the book over to his knapsack. If he was caught ... his heart pounded like a drum as he slipped the book into the knapsack, knowing it could be the end of everything if he was caught. Charlus could lie, cheat and steal and get away with it. Gennady could not. But ... he forced himself to back away from the knapsack and go back to work. The die was cast now.
“Boy,” Master Antony shouted. “Bring me the ...”
Gennady gritted his teeth as he continued to work, to bring the master everything he asked for. He thought his guilt was written all over his face, but Master Antony showed no sign of noticing anything as Gennady popped back and forth with everything he wanted. The urge to return the book to the pile was simply overwhelming, but ... Gennady resisted, despite the risk. By the time the shop was closed and he could return to the boarding house, he was a nervous wreck. Master Antony didn’t notice. He dismissed Gennady with a curt command to be back at the shop the following morning and not a minute too late.
Bastard, Gennady thought. His knapsack felt heavy, too heavy to lift. What did your last slave die of?
He kept walking, even though he knew he’d crossed a line. He’d be in very real trouble if he was caught now, with a stolen book in his bag. He’d stolen a book, a magic book. It wasn’t a harmless little prank like murdering a commoner. He wanted to turn and go back and return the book and ... and he knew he couldn’t. He’d never forgive himself for passing up the chance to boost his powers. The thought of cracking Charlus’s wards with a wave of his hand was just too tempting. He made it back to the boarding house without ever quite being aware of the walk. His thoughts had been elsewhere.
No one awaited him as he passed through the warded door and slipped up the stairs to the dorms. He’d hoped for a private room, but there wasn’t one. Instead ... he hid the book in his trunk, then wrapped a handful of obscurification spells around it. In theory, the spells would keep anyone from noticing the book unless they already knew to look for it. In practice ... he shook his head. Stronger protective spells would be more noticeable. He had little faith in his ability to keep his peers out, if they wanted in. None of his spells had ever stopped Charlus for more than a few moments.
And that will change, he promised himself, as he ate, showered and went to bed. I’ll be stronger than ever before.
The thought haunted him as he slept, uneasily. His dreams seemed to blur into nightmares, mocking reminders of what he’d done and what would happen to him if he was caught. Master Antony was horrible to him, wasn’t he? He deserved to have something stolen from him, didn’t he? Gennady found it hard to respect a man who was so unpleasant ... he had few qualms about stealing what he needed to live, particularly from someone who was doing his level best to work Gennady to death. And yet ... he knew Master Antony wouldn’t see it that way. Gennady had stolen enough food, as a child, to be sure of it. He’d be beaten halfway to death—at best—if he was caught. The thought tormented him so badly that he felt as if he hadn’t slept a wink when the morning bell finally rang. He was so headachy and tired that he almost tried to beg off work. Only the grim certainty that it would have been suspicious if he hadn’t gone to work forced him out of his bunk.