Dark apprentice, p.10
Dark Apprentice, page 10
He compromised by dressing for bed and reading in the chair, or trying to. She would come.
Medea snapped the book shut and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Find what you were looking for?” the Botanist asked. A former apprentice, and a decent one at that. Too bad he hadn’t stuck around to complete his training.
“I don’t know.”
On the one hand, it was nice to find out the boy hadn’t lied. On the other hand, the truth was bleak. The boy was right. There was no way he could train himself, not if this was what passed for magical education these days. Handing him off to someone else would accomplish nothing. The boy was like a vial of nitroglycerin—one wrong bump and he was apt to explode with devastating consequences. He required a steady hand, and if she wanted it done right, she’d have to do it herself.
“Medea?”
“Huh?”
The Botanist stood holding their teacups. He yawned. “I said, is there anything else you needed tonight?”
“No, sorry. Thank you for letting me check your books.” She collected the boy’s books and left, vaguely registering the “good night” voiced behind her.
There had to be a way to train an apprentice without killing them. Well, a dark apprentice anyway. This was never a problem with a normal student. Why couldn’t they all be like the Botanist? Where had she gone wrong with the others?
Obviously their baser instincts led them to pursue “dark” magic, and for some reason, they always tried to kill her. To what end? They already had access to her library. What else did they want?
Always she’d put the blame on the student, on their character, but perhaps the fault was her own. Was it not the job of the master to train the student? That she excelled at magic did not necessarily make her a good teacher.
She spun around and walked back to the small cottage in the woods, rapping soundly on the door.
The Botanist took a moment to answer. “Forget something?”
“Why do my apprentices keep trying to kill me? Is there something I could be doing differently?”
He leaned heavily against the doorframe. “Yes, you could stop training necromancers and pyromancers and demonologists.”
“Those are perfectly acceptable magical schools. You know a bit of demonology yourself!”
“Yes, but I’m not trying to take over the world, am I? Medea, it’s a little late for this.”
“I’m not going to stop training magic.”
“Dark magic.”
“Magic.”
He shook his head and yawned. “Did it ever occur to you that letting students wander free in that library of yours was only encouraging them? They can look up anything, for chrissakes.”
“They come to me because they want to learn—”
“They want to learn how to kill people. And you’re surprised when they want to kill you?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again. Surprised wasn’t the right word. Insulted maybe, that they could be so stupid. Anyone who spent more than five minutes with her should see how impenetrable her defenses were. Killing her was a laughable goal.
“Look,” he continued, “part of teaching is knowing when your students are ready for certain information. If you give it to them all at once, they can’t make sense of it. Dish it out slowly, when they’re ready. If they’re ready.”
“I’ll not censor myself.”
“Then don’t be surprised when things turn out the same as they always do. Good night.”
He shut the door before she could think of a retort.
Medea walked down the lane, turning off into the woods at a certain stump that used to be a great tree. Dead now, like everything else she’d ever known. Moss gave it a shaggy coat and conk mushrooms decorated one side. Even in death, the tree still served some purpose. Medea stopped to slice off several conks and add them to the pouch on her hip.
Death was something she’d long since grown accustomed to. It was inevitable. Less inevitable was watching apprentices die. Other masters didn’t seem to have this problem. Of course, other masters churned out unprepared students.
Perhaps the fault was with her training, but she couldn’t see how. Her students—those who survived and didn’t try to kill her—were some of the most powerful Magi she’d ever known. Withholding information felt dirty. Knowledge was the greatest gift one could bestow on another. It was meant to be shared.
Then again, not everyone was like her. Many of her students lacked restraint, especially since the Collective had formed and started passing laws against certain types of magic. As abhorrent as it seemed, perhaps limiting the boy’s knowledge would be prudent, at least in the beginning. If she could direct him toward other subjects . . .
That was it!
Always, she’d allowed them to pick their specialties from day one. Most of them had such a narrow view of what was possible they picked the first thing that popped into their heads. She’d never argued because it was their decision to make. So, delay the choice. Give the boy a firm grasp of all magical schools before allowing him to pick a specialty. She wasn’t holding back information per se, simply ensuring he had what he needed to make an informed decision.
Medea opened her pouch and fished around for paper and pen. She needed to jot down the preparations she had to make for the boy’s arrival, before they’d slipped from her mind. No time to get to it tonight. He must be informed of her decision. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a mistake.
Nikolai’s head jerked up. Damn! He’d dozed off. Something had woken him—was it a knock?
“Coming!” He put the book aside and hastily pulled a robe over his night clothes. For all he knew, Medea could’ve been knocking for some time before he’d woken. As he opened the door, he pretended to stifle a yawn.
“Yes? What is it? Medea! It’s rather late. What brings you—”
“Stop the act.” She barged into the apartment and leaned against his kitchen table, arms crossed, face even more severe than usual.
“Whatever you need, couldn’t it have waited until morning?”
“Pfft. As if you haven’t been waiting up for me.”
“As a matter of fact, you just woke me.”
“Oh, really? Tell me, do you normally sleep levitating above a perfectly made bed?” She gestured to his immaculately tucked blankets.
“Actually, I fell asleep in a chair while reading.”
“You mean the chair conveniently positioned next to your window?”
“The light’s better there during the day.”
“Is it really that difficult to speak the truth we both know? I can see the scratch marks on your floor from when you moved the chair! Do you always lie compulsively? Never mind, don’t answer that.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “Look, if we’re going to have a working relationship, you need to be honest. I know you manipulated me today. It’s rather disturbing to realize that and know I’m going to acquiesce anyway.” She twisted her hands absently and began to pace.
Nikolai smiled and moved to the kitchenette. “I prefer to think I made a compelling argument. Tea?”
She didn’t appear to be listening. “Those books . . . I thought they might be fake. I hoped they might be fake. I tracked down the few alumni in town and checked their textbooks.”
He had a sudden image of the pint-sized blonde woman barging into people’s homes demanding to see their schoolbooks.
“They matched yours, so I checked the Academy book dealer, then visited a few people abroad.”
“Why?”
“To verify their authenticity, of course.”
“You thought I forged my own books and everyone else’s in town and the book dealer’s?”
She paused her pacing to look at him. “Well, yes. You’re talented and rather desperate to get what you want. I don’t know what connections you have or how long you’ve been planning this.”
“I didn’t even know the shop here sold Academy textbooks.” The Academy was in Turkey. Why would a shop in Ireland carry their books?
She waved a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t. I went to Istanbul. Then Germany to visit a colleague and see his books. I can’t believe how little they teach you of the basics, let alone combat or advanced magic . . .”
“How the hell did you get from here to Turkey to Germany and back so fast?”
“See?” Medea stopped pacing and gestured at him with both arms. “This is what I’m talking about. You don’t even know what’s possible! As far as I can tell, all they’ve taught you is bad habits.”
Medea stared at the floor, eyes darting back and forth as if she were reading. “I’ll have to undo that. We’ll have to start from scratch . . .” She trailed off, speaking inaudibly to herself.
She’d used the phrase “working relationship,” but confirmation was needed. When it came to agreements between Magi, wording mattered. Not all pacts were magically binding. For those that were, it was perfectly acceptable to find creative ways around an agreement, but karma or some other force might come down on those who broke their word. Perhaps that too was superstition.
Nikolai cleared his throat. “So, you’ll teach me?”
“Huh? Oh, yes. Damn it all, yes. You’re right, there’s really no one else to teach you. Even if I could recommend a colleague, you’d likely be running circles around them in a year. I do have conditions, though.” She straightened, her tone businesslike.
“What conditions?” Not that it mattered, he’d agree to them regardless, but it was important he appear to weigh them seriously.
“One, you must be honest with me. I cannot help you if I don’t have the information I require. Holding back, for fear of reprisal or exposure or judgment, will only cause your education to be delayed and sidetracked. If you wish to know something, ask. I will do my best to give you a complete and accurate answer, and train you in any magic you desire to learn. That is my vow to you. Is this acceptable?”
“Yes.”
“Two, do not attempt to kill me.” She sighed and shook her head. “I know you probably will. They always do, and it’s such a waste. Just . . . don’t make me kill you for such an insult. If you think you can beat me in a duel after all I teach you, then it will prove you have learned nothing. Give me your word. I know you won’t mean it, but a vow must be given for it to be broken.”
Easy to lie, but she was expecting it. “I thought you wanted me to be honest with you?”
Her mouth opened in surprise. She thought a moment before answering. “Give me . . . whatever honest vow you can.”
Generations of apprentices had gone before him and told the same lie. Time to stand out. But what honest vow could he give that wouldn’t make her call the whole thing off?
Medea waited as the silence stretched.
“I vow I won’t try to kill you until I am certain I can win.”
“Thank you for your honesty,” she said quietly. “If you are ever certain, check again. But if that is what you truly wish, I will honor your request for a Servitus aut Mors duel. Now, what number was I on?”
“Three.” Interesting that she thought he’d ever challenge her to a fair fight, or that he needed to outmatch her in magic to kill her. Winning was more about exploiting your opponent’s weaknesses than overpowering them.
“Ah, yes! Three, my home, my rules. We will be together for a good long while. I have strict rules regarding my place and my possessions. I expect you to follow them. I promise they are not too strict or out of the ordinary.”
A rule for following rules? Seemed redundant and unnecessary. Perhaps her age affected her brain, regardless of how young she looked. He nodded.
“Your vow,” she said.
“I will follow your rules.”
“Four, your apprenticeship ends when I say it does. It will be long. How long, I cannot say, but it will most certainly be many years before you reach the rank of master. Very few of my apprentices attain this rank. Most leave before their time has been fulfilled, or else attempt to kill me and perish. Know that you are free to leave at any time. I will, however, be forever disappointed by your lack of foresight. There are benefits to becoming a master under me.”
“Like what? Aside from the knowledge gained, of course.” Unless there was some clear advantage to completion, there was no reason to stick around any longer than necessary to learn what he needed.
“Masters are granted permanent access to my library, my laboratory—all my facilities. You will not understand the significance of this until you’ve seen them. I also offer a parting gift. It is bound to the individual and cannot be used by anyone else. When they die—if they die—the item returns to me.”
He’d have to find out what this item was and if it was worth the extra time. “I vow to complete my training and acknowledge that if I choose to leave prior to obtaining the rank of master, I will not be entitled to any of its benefits.”
“Five—”
How many rules did this woman have?
“Your apprenticeship will be painful. Of late, my students have described my methods as cruel and barbaric. My vow is to make you stronger—not just in magic, but in mind. I cannot build upon a weak foundation. Some of my tasks will seem pointless or dangerous. Everything I do has a purpose. There is no easy path to power. I will protect you as much as I can, but the training is not without harsh consequences, some of which can be fatal. Do you vow to do as I say, without complaint, for your own benefit?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Take whatever time you need tomorrow, then meet me at the inn when you’re ready.”
As soon as she was out the door, he began packing his clothes. Everything else could stay. He would meet Medea as early as possible in the morning. No reason to linger. There was no one in Haven he needed to say good-bye to, no one he cared about. All that remained was to get out of his contract with Petrov.
9
PETROV’S SECRET
Nikolai entered the shop in good humor. His new life was about to begin. Petrov muttered behind the counter as his wand moved over an amulet with the characteristic flourish of a protection spell. At his elbow, a pile of mail threatened to fall.
“Good morning!” Nikolai smiled at his mentor but received only a grunt in return. No matter. He opened the shutters, watered the plant, and brought out the till for the register. Petrov was usually chatty in the mornings. Perhaps the poisoning had weakened him. That was well enough. It might make the news of Nikolai’s leaving easier to bear. He was just about to bring up the topic when Petrov cleared his throat.
“There’s something we need to discuss. You’ve been neglecting your work.”
“I covered for you the whole time you were sick!”
“Aye, and you skived off your duties the rest of the week—taking long lunches, ducking out early, not paying attention. I won’t have it.”
“Well, you won’t have to deal with me any longer. After today I am no longer your apprentice. I’ve convinced Medea to take me on.”
Petrov’s face darkened. “Is that so? You owe me two more years, boy, and I’m the one who gets to decide if you’re to be released early. I’ll not have you gallivanting after that woman just so that you can end up dead in a few years.”
“I didn’t realize you cared,” Nikolai said acidly.
“I care enough not to let you make such a foolish decision.”
“It’s not foolish, and it’s my decision!”
“Is it now?” Petrov barked out a laugh. “You signed a contract, remember? Four years working for me and I’ll teach you what I know.”
“You haven’t taught me anything Useful. All day you keep me cooped up in this shop, handling your customers while you mess around in the back. And what do I have to show for it? A few enchantments and lame curses—nothing I couldn’t have learned on my own.”
“I’ve taught you plenty more than that,” Petrov growled.
“You’ve taught me how to lay low like a whipped dog after a little bit of heat from the Collective.”
Petrov jammed a finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way! You will stay here and finish what you started. I won’t discuss it again.” With that, he turned his back on Nikolai and busied himself with the items on the counter. Then, more softly, “It’s for the best. I don’t like to think what would become of you if you went into her care.”
Nikolai fumed. Petrov had no right to keep him here. He mentally flipped through the contract. It was a simple arrangement. Work and a modest income in exchange for knowledge. It ended when Petrov said so, or after four years, whichever came first. Nikolai could think of only one other way out of it.
His fingers brushed the speed dagger concealed in his pocket. No. He was not Medea, to get away with such a thing. What if he had to come back here?
The rest of the day, Nikolai was careful to present his usual charming self. It would be difficult enough to pass off Petrov’s death as an accident, but he was leaving town that very night and would be a prime suspect if it was undeniably murder. All day he contemplated how best to do it. Should he fake a break-in? Stab the man in the storeroom, then pile boxes of weapons on top of the body to make it look like they had fallen? Poison? They all seemed too obvious. He might have to risk it and change his identity afterward. Medea’s apprenticeship was worth the risk.
At closing time, he was still mulling it over. He locked the door and shuttered the windows as Petrov counted the till. It was now or never. He transferred the dagger from his pocket to his sleeve and started toward Petrov, with no more plan than to lure the man into the back. Before he could open his mouth, Petrov spoke.
“You did well today. I’m proud of you. I know you’re still angry with me, but you didn’t let it impact your work. That takes real control. Come here, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
Petrov walked halfway to the back and stopped outside his office. Nikolai followed obediently. Maybe he’d earned enough goodwill that the old man had changed his mind.
