Magic Zero (9 page)

“What makes you think I’ll be any safer with Lord Nicodemus?” Timothy asked, avoiding looking at the Grandmaster. “My father’s house has safeguards. You told me so yourself. But those . . . those things managed to get in just the same.”

Leander nodded. “All the more reason. Your father, may he rest, is gone. This manse is compromised. Nicodemus’s estate is perhaps the most isolated, most secure home in all of Sunderlund. It would be almost impossible to enter uninvited, even if anyone would dare. Which is unlikely in any case. He is the Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred. It would be tantamount to a declaration of war between guilds.”

Nicodemus leaned forward, waking and dislodging Alastor from his lap. The cat leaped down and the Grandmaster steepled his hands beneath his chin, gazing at Timothy. “If
you are not safe with me,” he said, “then there will be no sanctuary for you anywhere.”

The boy gave a short, bitter laugh. “Well, that’s a comfort.”

*  *  *

The following afternoon a carriage hovered weightlessly in the air at the foot of the stairs that led up to his father’s home. Timothy stood on the last step and studied the floating vehicle that had been sent to take him away. It was the first time he would ride in one, and no matter how difficult things were, he could not stifle his excitement. It was sleek in its design, made of a golden metal that glistened in sunlight. Like Leander’s carriage, it had the image of a dragon at each corner, and it bore Nicodemus’s family crest on each door—a screaming eagle, its wings spread in flight. As a distraction from his anxieties, his brain attempted to devise a way in which a vehicle like this could be made to ride the air without the use of magic.

A familiar hiss of steam filled the air and Timothy turned to see Sheridan making his way down the steps with Ivar close behind. They were each carrying large satchels containing the boy’s belongings. Behind them Leander was closing up the house with the aid of Nicodemus’s personal assistant, a stout man named Carlyle. Timothy’s eyes grew steely as he watched the men. In the short amount of time he had spent with the Grandmaster’s assistant, he had decided that he did not care for the man even a little. Carlyle treated him like an oddity, meeting everything he said with a condescending smile and a nod.

I can’t do magic, that’s all!
he wanted to scream at the man.
I’m not a simpleton.
But he was sure that even that would have garnered the same patronizing response.

Sheridan reached the bottom step.

“Let me help you with that,” Timothy said, taking the bag from the mechanical man’s hand.

Sheridan issued a cheery toot from his steam pipe. “Thank you, Timothy.” The metal man studied the sky carriage floating in the air before them. “My, isn’t it a wondrous craft,” he said, the gears and such within his head whining and whirring as if there were insects trapped inside. “It’s even larger than Master Maddox’s.”

The carriage’s navigation mage, perched upon his seat at the front of the craft, turned to fix his stare on his passengers. He was draped in robes of yellow, similar to the hue of the vehicle itself. His face, as with all transportation mages, was covered in a veil of a darker hue than his robes. Many wore their faces completely covered, using senses other than sight for navigation. But Nicodemus’s navigator wore only a half veil, and his eyes glared intensely at them over the top of the veil. Timothy decided that this was not a person to be trifled with.

“The machine and the savage will ride in back,” the navigation mage instructed in a gravelly voice, gesturing with an upraised thumb at a separate compartment that was attached to the back of the larger carriage. “Lord Nicodemus’s orders.”

Timothy’s anger flared and his eyes narrowed as he stared at the navigator. “These are my friends you’re talking about.
Nicodemus may not think much of them, but he shouldn’t be so narrow-minded. He’s just going to have to—”

Ivar’s firm hand fell upon his shoulder, and he felt the Asura’s inner strength flow into him.

“It is inconsequential,” the warrior whispered.

“Yes, Timothy,” Sheridan said, taking the satchel from him. “A ride in the back will be more than sufficient. At least we don’t have to walk.”

A black shape dropped from the sky, landing on the roof of the carriage. Edgar cawed loudly and fluttered his wings. “He’s got an interesting way of looking at things, doesn’t he?”

The navigation mage glared at the rook, but Edgar paid him no mind, twitching his tail feathers and dancing from foot to foot.

“So, are we ready to go?” the black bird asked his master.

Timothy frowned, still not at all pleased at having to leave his new home. Then again, if Leander believed that it was necessary, who was he to argue. He had been born of this world, but he certainly did not understand it.

“I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be, I suppose.” He took one final glance at the house, watching as Leander and Carlyle descended the stairs.

“If you have any questions at all, do not hesitate to contact me immediately at the university or at home—day or night,” Leander told the Grandmaster’s assistant.

“The boy will be fine,” Carlyle assured Leander, aloof as always. He wore a smug smile that Timothy found unsettling.
It is inconsequential.
His Asura friend’s wise words echoed in his
mind, and Timothy made an effort to calm himself. Sheridan and Ivar were loading his things into the back of the rear carriage as Leander and Carlyle reached him.

“This is it, then,” the burly, red-bearded mage said. In the brief time they had been together, Leander had become like family to Timothy, and now the big man seemed almost as nervous about their parting as he was.

“Yes,” Timothy said, looking past the mage to the front of the house. He committed the sight to memory, every detail, no matter how small, would be there for him to remember anytime he wished. Timothy would keep the recollection close, until he was able to return. “I’d just gotten used to thinking of this as home. Patience seems so very far away.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Leander said, distracting him. “But no matter how dreadful this feels, it is all for the best.”

Timothy focused on the face of his father’s friend—
his
friend—and felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Leander only wanted to do what was right, and it was obvious that this decision pained him terribly.

“I understand.” Timothy did his best to muster a smile. “And besides, it won’t be forever, right?”

Carlyle coughed into his closed hand and then glanced at the timepiece on his wrist. “If you’ll both excuse me,” he said in an officious tone. “Master Maddox, we’ll be in touch if the need arises.” The Grandmaster’s assistant offered the mage a slight bow. Then he turned his belittling gaze upon Timothy. “Young sir, I’ll be waiting inside the carriage.”

Carlyle climbed in and the door closed tightly behind him.

“Someone’s in a bit of a hurry,” Leander said, sniffing in annoyance.

“Seems like the type who always would be, don’t you think?” Timothy watched the man through the window in the door and saw that he was scowling and again looking at his timepiece.

“You’d better be off then,” the mage said with a halfhearted attempt at cheer. “Wouldn’t want to keep the Lord Nicodemus waiting.”

Timothy nodded. “No, of course not. The Grandmaster doesn’t seem like he would have much more patience than his assistant.”

They stood facing each other, hesitating. Neither, it seemed, wanted to say good-bye.

“Timothy—” Leander began.

“Don’t feel bad—” the boy interrupted. “I know you just want to keep me safe.”

The mage placed a large, comforting hand upon his shoulder and squeezed. “I wouldn’t want you to think I was abandoning you—that I didn’t care,” he grumbled.

Timothy patted the man’s hand fondly. “I would never think such a thing.”

Silence came between them again. Then the carriage door swung open and Carlyle cleared his throat. “Timothy?” he called, and the boy knew that it was time for him to leave.

“I’ll visit as often as I’m able,” Leander promised as the boy climbed up into the floating vehicle.

Timothy raised his hand in farewell. “I would expect no less.”

The spell that controlled the door of the floating vehicle did not recognize that anyone had entered the cab, so Leander passed a hand over it, purple sparks dancing from his fingers, and belatedly the door closed itself tightly. Then he stepped back as the craft began its departure. Timothy watched him and felt the loss of Leander’s presence keenly, the departure aching his heart even more than he had expected. The house had provided him with a link to his father, now that Argus Cade was gone from this world, but in a sense Leander had provided an even more powerful link.

The navigation mage manipulated the crackling magics of levitation and they were off. Timothy turned away, not wanting to watch as the carriage descended the steep incline from August Hill toward the city of Arcanum waiting below. It was a panoramic vista that made his breath catch in his throat and his eyes widen in amazement. While he had not forgotten his sadness, it receded as they reached the base of August Hill and the sky carriage zipped along Arcanum’s busy streets. The sights of the city were almost more than Timothy’s senses could stand. He found himself closing his eyes periodically, protecting himself from the visual barrage parading past. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“It’s all so . . . incredible,” he muttered, barely aware that he had spoken the words aloud.

Carlyle, who appeared to have been napping, gazed out the window as they passed a block of jagged, crystalline buildings
that twinkled and glistened in the approaching dusk. Timothy wasn’t sure if he had ever seen anything quite so breathtaking. They looked almost as though they had been grown upon that location, rather than built. It occurred to Timothy that no one here really
built
anything, not in the way he understood the word, and that it was more than possible that his instinct was correct. The idea that anyone could grow crystal towers made him shudder with giddy pleasure. This world was one discovery after another.

“Incredible,” Timothy repeated.

“I suppose,” the assistant said with disinterest, already slouching back into his seat.

They flew above a road that passed through the center of a bustling marketplace, and Timothy marveled at the brief glimpses of countless items he saw on display there. Amazing smells wafted up from many of the stalls. There were beautifully woven flying carpets, hoods and cloaks of myriad designs, racks of books and jars of herbs, and even stalls where the strangest of animals were tethered, awaiting purchase. Street magicians performed to the delight of children, dancing in the air, juggling multicolored flames, acting out scenes of high drama or low comedy, altering their clothes or their features with a flourish of a hand. Timothy would have given just about anything to spend some time wandering about the fabulous bazaar.

Carlyle had begun to snore, a high-pitched whining sound that reminded Timothy of one of Sheridan’s straining servomechanisms, but he didn’t mind. He had no interest in
conversing with the man, especially when there were so many fabulous things to see outside.

The craft began to ascend, climbing so high that many of the taller structures and the spires atop them were suddenly at eye level. Timothy was anxious about the height at first, but his fascination with the architecture before him soon calmed him down. The spires in particular were marvels of magical creation—what Leander called conjure-architecture. They looked almost as though they had been sculpted from clouds, but were actually made of crystal or stone or wood, shaped and placed by sorcery alone. The speed of the carriage increased and soon they were gliding among those spires with unsettling speed. Timothy wondered how Ivar and Sheridan were doing; it was their first time in a sky carriage as well.

Abruptly they emerged from among the spires and only clear sky lay ahead. He craned his neck to look down and saw that below them the city had been replaced by a churning ocean of icy blue, so different from the waters that lapped the shores of Patience. No one had mentioned the ocean, and Timothy wondered where it was exactly that Nicodemus called home. Great watercrafts sailed across the sea below him, their prows jutting so high, flying the flags of the many magical guilds. Timothy had never been on a watercraft, and he felt a yearning in his heart as he gazed down upon them. One, a long, thin vessel colored the bright purple of vineyard fruit, sliced through the water so swiftly it seemed almost alive.

Beautiful,
he thought,
but what are we doing out here?
He
would have guessed that the Grandmaster of the Order of Alhazred lived in Arcanum—in one of the fabulous towers that reached into the sky above the clouds—above his followers.

“We’re approaching SkyHaven,” the navigation mage abruptly announced, startling him.

Carlyle came awake with a loud snort and rubbed at his eyes.

“SkyHaven?” Timothy asked with a puzzled frown, gazing out at the ocean below.

“The estate of Lord Nicodemus,” the assistant responded, consulting his timepiece.

The vehicle banked to the right and Timothy grabbed hold of a leather strap on the door to prevent himself from sliding across the seat into Carlyle’s lap. As the carriage tilted, the young boy, the un-magician, got his first glimpse of SkyHaven, the home of the Grandmaster. For a moment he held his breath.

Its towers and turrets twisted impossibly above the circular foundation of the mansion, as though the gray stone and black wood had been frozen in a timeless dance. Yet despite the formidable beauty of SkyHaven, what astonished Timothy most was that the entire estate—castle and fortress and the lush and verdant expanse of land beneath it—hovered, as if weightless, above the endless rolling waves of the azure ocean hundreds of feet below, earth and stone and roots dangling above the water as though they had just been ripped from the very planet itself.

“It’s . . . it’s incredible,” Timothy said in an excited whisper as the air carriage flew nearer.