Gennady's Tale

Chapter 9

Gennady would have enjoyed working for Master Antony a little more, he supposed, if the man hadn’t seen him as little more than a slave.

The apothecary itself was a fascinating place. It was a larger store than most of the others in the town, with a large chamber open to the public and two storerooms crammed with potions supplies and rare elements from all over the continent. Gennady had worked with all sorts of ingredients in alchemy classes, but he’d never seen so many—some borderline legal—gathered in one place before. And there was a giant pile of books and scrolls, ranging from outdated textbooks to tomes written in languages no one could read. It was the sort of place, he supposed, where he might have been happy.

But its master was a harsh man, so harsh he’d driven away the other shop boys. Gennady had been confronted by a pair of shop boys, when he’d returned to Dragon’s Den, but their objections—which he only half-understood—had melted away when he’d told them who he was going to be working for. Master Antony was so strict that Gennady found it impossible to keep up with his demands, from sweeping the shop every morning and evening to cutting up and preparing a whole string of dangerous ingredients. There was no time to brew anything for himself, let alone continue his studies. The only upside, as far as he could tell, was that he was saving a little money. He simply didn’t have time to spend it.

“Boy!” Master Antony handled the customers, rather than leaving it to his shop-boy. “Fetch me the powdered rhinoceros horn!”

“Yes, Master,” Gennady said, tiredly. Master Antony got cranky every time Gennady failed to show the proper respect. Gennady wasn’t ignorant enough to believe Master Antony really was at the top of his field, despite his claims, but he was a big man in the town. “I’ll bring it for you right away.”

He hurried into the backroom and searched the shelves for the powdered rhinoceros horn. His lips quirked as he found the jar—there weren’t many uses for powdered rhinoceros horn, only one of which was really practical—and carried back to his master. A middle-aged woman with a smile that didn’t quite touch her eyes was standing in front of the counter, resting her arms on the wood. Gennady recognised her from his previous stay in the town. She ran the local brothel, taking care of the girls and protecting them from all comers. Gennady had never dared visit. There’d been too great a chance of running into Charlus or one of his cronies.

But I could go now, he thought. He felt a twinge of uncertainty. He was saving himself for Primrose, wasn’t he? I could go and ...

“Give it here.” Master Antony took the jar from him and started to pour it into the scales. “Fetch me the crimson brew while you’re at it.”

“Yes, Master.” Gennady resisted the urge to point out that Master Antony could have called for both ingredients at the same time. His tutors hadn’t been too concerned about students overburdening themselves with heavy jars. “I’ll fetch it right away.”

“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.

His conscience continued to torment him as he went to work, slaved for hours and finally staggered back to the boarding house. Master Antony was even more unpleasant, as if he knewGennady had done something without knowing precisely what. Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Gennady tried his best to follow orders, finding and preparing ingredients and then sorting books without complaining. But he still felt utterly terrible as the days turned into weeks. He wanted to confess. But the longer he waited, the worse it would be.

And he’d kill me, if he knew the truth, Gennady reminded himself. He’d taken the time to look up the laws concerning theft, such as they were. Punishments ranged from time in the stocks to enslavement or death. And ... he’d already crossed the line. I can’t ever tell him.

It was almost surprising, the final day, when Simon walked into the store. “Gennady! How are you?”

Gennady stared. Simon looked ... taller, somehow. His face was tanned, as if he’d been somewhere sunny. He held himself with a new confidence, a confidence Gennady wished he shared. He’d been tempted to visit Simon’s parents, just to see what they were like. They could hardly be worse than his parents, or Master Antony.

“You look so different,” he managed, finally. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, I had a wonderful time,” Simon said. “Do you want to go for dinner? I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Please.” Gennady forced himself to smile. “Just give me a moment.”

Master Antony wasn’t pleased to hear that Gennady wanted to leave early, but it was the last day. He merely grunted as Gennady picked up his knapsack and carried it out of the store, without even bothering to wave goodbye. Gennady smiled, despite his fear, as Simon and he hurried down the streets and into a small cafe. He’d gotten away with it. Master Antony had never noticed the missing book. He hadn’t even known he’d had it to lose.

He smiled, for what felt like the first time in years. “How was your summer?”

“Oh, it was great!” Simon grinned, brightly. “The guy I was working with? He was an enchanter. I learnt so much about enchanting crap ... you know, I can make a teapot that sings!”

Gennady felt a lump of something indigestible in the pit of his stomach. Simon had had a good time. Of course he’d had a good time. He’d been having fun, and learning magic, while Gennady had been stuck in a store with a grumpy master who’d treated him as a slave ... he felt his guilt evaporate as envy gnawed at him. Simon had had a good time. It just wasn’t fair.

“Why would you make a singing teapot?” It was hard to talk, against the growing envy pulsing through him. Simon had learnt something useful.Gennady had wasted his time. “What’s the point?”

“Apparently, it was to welcome guests and make them feel comfortable. Or something.” Simon shrugged. “The guy who ordered it was an absolute beast.”

“I know the type,” Gennady said. His friends had practically abandoned him ... he tried to tell himself that wasn’t true, that they hadn’t had a choice, but it was hard to believe it. “Have you heard from Lyndred?”

“She’s fine; she wrote to me,” Simon said. “The bard is apparently a little too fond of the healer.”

Gennady felt another twinge of envy. Lyndred hadn’t written to him. Primrose hadn’t written to him, not that she could. It was unfair, but ... he gritted his teeth. He felt alone, even though Simon was with him. He’d always be alone.

“We’ll be going back to school tomorrow,” Simon said. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yeah.” Gennady smiled, wanly. He was looking forward to going back to school, but he had other problems to worry about. “I have something I need to show you.”

Simon looked up. “What?”

“Wait and see.” Gennady tried to wink. “I want to show you and Lyndred at the same time.”

“Cool.” Simon didn’t seem put out. “I heard someone started a war. Charlus was trying to help his father, and he got into a feud with their family’s allies.”

“I wish.” Gennady would have liked to believe Charlus had done something even his family would have found unacceptable, but he doubted it. He wasn’t sure there was anything that couldn’t be hushed up, if the aristocrats didn’t simply take it in stride. “He’s probably going to come back to school, bragging about having sorted out all the problems of the world.”

“He’ll have to devise a plan to retake the Blighted Lands first.” Simon gestured towards the Craggy Mountains and the Blighted Lands beyond. “You remember Duke Fotheringay?”

Gennady nodded. They’d studied the duke in history class. He’d led an ill-planned attack on the Blighted Lands, which had ended in utter disaster. The necromancers had slaughtered the army and done unspeakable things to the duke, which hadn’t stopped the tutor from speaking about them. Gennady contemplated the mental image of Charlus meeting the same end, then sobered. The bastard would scrape out of it somehow, like he always did, while his entire army was ground to powder. His family’s wealth and power would see to that, no matter who died. And Charlus would probably be feted as a hero.

“I’m sure people will remember him,” Simon said, when Gennady said that out loud. “As one of the worst idiots the human race ever produced.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Gennady lifted his mug of water. He’d refused alcohol. His father had turned into a brute whenever he drank and Gennady refused to go the same way. “To people getting their just desserts.”

“Cheers,” Simon said.