The Book of Magic: A collection of stories by various authors

“This is about the chair of Logic,” I said.

“I’m afraid so. You see, you’re not my only friend at the Studium.”

I needed to play for time. “The bear trap.”

“That was me, yes. Two cousins of my head gardener. It’s a shame you had to kill them, but I understand. I have the contacts, you see, being an outsider.”

You have to concentrate like mad to keep virtus going. It drains you. “You must like Gnatho very much.”

“Actually, it’s just simple intellectual greed.” He sighed. “I needed access to a formula, but it’s restricted. My friend has the necessary clearance. He got me the formula, but it came at a price. Normally I’d have worked around it, tried to figure it out from first principles, but that would take years, and I haven’t got that long. Even with the formula I’ll need at least ten years to complete my work, and you just don’t know how long you’ve got, do you?” Then he laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “Tactless of me, in the circumstances. Look, will you forgive me? It’s not malice, you know. You’re a scholar; you understand. The work must come first, mustn’t it? And you know how important this could be; I just told you about it.”

I hadn’t been listening when he told me. It went straight over my head, like geese flying south for the winter. “You’re saying you had no choice.”

“I tried to get it through proper channels,” he said, “but they refused. They said I couldn’t have it because I wasn’t a proper member of the Studium any more. But that’s not right, is it? I may not live there, but I’m still one of us. Just because you go away, it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

“You could have come back.” They always do, sooner or later.

“Maybe. No, I couldn’t. I’m ashamed to say, I like it too much here. It’s comfortable. There’re no stupid rules or politics, nobody to sneer at me or stab me in the back because they want my chair. I don’t want to go back. I’m through with all that.”

“The boy at Riens,” I said. “Did you—?”

“Yes, that was me. I found him and notified the authorities. I had to get you to come out this way.”

“You did more than that.” I was guessing, but I had nothing to lose. “You found a natural, and you filled his head with spite and hate. I imagine you appeared to him in dreams. Fulgensorigo?”

“Naturally. I knew they’d send you. You’re the best at that sort of thing. If it had just been an unregistered natural, they could have sent anyone. To make sure it was you, I had to turn him nasty. I’m sorry. I’ve caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people.”

“But it’s worth it, in the long run.”

“Yes.”

Pain, you see, is the distraction. As long as I could hurt him, in the conscience, where it really stings, I was still in the game. “It’s not, you know. Your theory is invalid. There’s a flaw. I spotted it when you were telling me about it. It’s so obvious, even I can see it.”

I didn’t need Forms to tell me what he was thinking. “You’re lying.”

“Don’t insult me,” I said. “Not on a point of scholarship. I wouldn’t do that.”

Silence. Then he said, “No, you wouldn’t. All right, then, what is it? Come on, you’ve got to tell me!”

“Why? You’re going to kill me.”

“Not necessarily. Come on, for God’s sake! What did you see?”

And at that precise moment, my fingertips connected with what they’d been blindly groping for: the bottle of aqua fortis I’d slipped into the pocket of my gown earlier, when we were both blinded by the purple smoke. I flipped out the cork with my thumbnail, then thrust the bottle in what I devoutly hoped was the right direction.

Aqua fortis has no pity; it’s incapable of it. They use it to etch steel. People who know about these things say it’s the worst pain a man can suffer.

I’d meant it for Gnatho, of course; purely in self-defense, if he ambushed me and tried to hex me. Pain would be my only weapon in that case. I had no way of getting hold of the stuff at the Studium, where they’re so damn fussy about restricted stores, but I knew my good friend Genseric would have some, and would be slapdash about security.

The pain hit him; he let go of virtus. I came back to life. The first thing I did was lux in tenebris, so I could see exactly what I’d done to him. It wasn’t pretty. I saw the skin bubble on his face, pull apart to reveal the bone underneath; I watched the bone dissolve. You have to believe me when I say that I tried to save him, mundus vergens, but I just couldn’t concentrate with that horrible sight in front of my eyes. Pain paralyzes, and you can’t think straight. It ate deep into his brain, I told him I forgave him, and then he died.

For the record; I think—no, I’m sure—there was a flaw in his theory. It was a false precept, right at the beginning. He was a nice man and a good friend, mostly, but a poor scholar.

As soon as I got back to the Studium, I went to see Father Sulpicius. I told him everything that had happened, including Genseric’s confession.

He looked at me. “Gnatho,” he said.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “You.”

He frowned. “Don’t be silly,” he said.

“It was you.”

“Ridiculous. Look, I can prove it. I don’t have clearance for restricted alchemical data. But Gnatho does.”

I nodded. “That’s right, he does. So you asked him to get the data for you. He was happy to oblige. After all, he’s your friend.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Genseric had to find the natural. You’re hopeless at that sort of thing; Gnatho’s very good at it. If you’d been able to, you’d have done it yourself. But you had to leave it to Genseric.”

He took a deep breath. “You’re wrong,” he said. “But assuming you were right, what would you intend to do about it?”

I looked at him. “Absolutely nothing,” I said. “No, I tell a lie. I’d withdraw my name for the chair. Just as you’re going to do.”

“And let Gnatho—”

Oh, the scorn in those words. He’d have hit me if he’d been able. He’s always looked down on Gnatho and me, just because we’re from the Mesoge.

“He’s a fine scholar,” I said. “Besides, I never wanted the stupid job anyway.”

The boy from Riens duly turned up and was assigned to a house. He’s settled in remarkably well, far better than I did. Mind you, I didn’t have an influential senior member of Faculty looking out for me, like he has. He could go far, given encouragement. I hope he does, for the honor of the Old Country.

I’m glad I didn’t get the chair. If I had, I wouldn’t have had the time for a new line of research, which I have high hopes for. It concerns the use of strong acids for disposing of the mortal remains of revenants. Fire doesn’t work, we know, because fire leaves ashes; but if you eat the substance away so there’s absolutely nothing left— Well, we’ll see.

He’ll be back, my father used to say, like a pig to its muck. I gather he said it the day I left home. Well. We’ll see about that, too.

Megan Lindholm

Books by Megan Lindholm include the fantasy novels Wizard of the Pigeons, Harpy’s Flight, The Windsingers, The Limbreth Gate, Luck of the Wheels, The Reindeer People, Wolf’s Brother, and Cloven Hooves, the science fiction novel Alien Earth, and, with Steven Brust, the collaborative novel The Gypsy. Lindholm also writes as New York Times bestseller Robin Hobb, one of the most popular writers in fantasy today, having sold over one million copies of her work in paperback. As Robin Hobb, she’s perhaps best known for her epic fantasy Farseer series, including Assassin’s Apprentice, Royal Assassin, and Assassin’s Quest, as well as the four fantasy series related to it: the Liveship Traders series, consisting of Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, and Ship of Destiny; the Tawny Man series, made up of Fool’s Errand, The Golden Fool, and Fool’s Fate; the Rain Wilds Chronicles, consisting of Dragon Keeper, Dragon Haven, City of Dragons, and Blood of Dragons; and the Fitz and the Fool trilogy, made up of Fool’s Assassin, Fool’s Quest, and Assassin’s Fate. She’s also the author of the Soldier Son series, composed of Shaman’s Crossing, Forest Mage, and Renegade’s Magic. As Megan Lindholm, her most recent book is a “collaborative” collection with Robin Hobb, The Inheritance & Other Stories.

Doing a favor for an old friend is always a risky business, full of potential disappointments and pitfalls, especially when the old friend is someone you haven’t seen or spoken to for decades after an acrimonious breakup—someone who once betrayed you, someone you know better than to trust. And especially in a case where dangerous magic is involved.

Community Service

The phone rang. I stripped off my rubber gloves and reached for it. It’s an old house phone, yellow, with a dial, still mounted to the wall. It works. I like it.

“Good morning. Tacoma Pet Boarding.”

“Celtsie, it’s me, Farky. Don’t hang up.”

I hung up. I put my gloves back on. I don’t know what Tooraloo’s owner had been feeding the cat, but it wasn’t hitting the cat sand, and getting it off the side of the cat box was requiring some serious scrubbing. And scrubbing cat diarrhea was preferable to talking to Farky. He’d suckered me for the last time.

The phone rang.

I let it ring twice before I stripped off my rubber gloves again. I couldn’t afford to miss a customer call. Only three of my crates were full. I needed to board some pets, or groom something, or for someone to walk in with one of my other business cards—the ones that look just like tarot cards. But that hadn’t happened for a while, and my most recent fortune cookie said not to count on good luck. I took a breath and modulated my voice. “Good morning. Tacoma Pet Boarding.”

“I’m in trouble and no one else can help me.”

“Add me to the list of people who won’t help you.” I hung up again. Gloves. Scrub. I felt the vindictive satisfaction of someone who was finally able to betray a traitorous friend. How many times had I helped Farky? And my dad had helped him before me. And how had he ever paid us back? With lies and thefts. He always swore he was clean. He always begged for another chance. And he’d be good for a week or two months or almost a year before he stuck his nose back in the Captain Crack box. And then he’d tap the till until I noticed, or copy the store key and come back at night to make off with whatever he thought he could pawn. Give Farky a couch for the night, wake up to half my jewelry gone. No. I was done with him. And if he was in trouble, well, good for him. I was glad of it.

And curious. What kind of trouble, and how deep? Whatever it was, he deserved it. Was he sleeping in alleys again? Had he cheated a dealer? I thought of the pleasure of hearing him pour out his difficulty to me and then telling him to take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.

The phone rang.

I let it ring as I stripped off my rubber gloves and poured myself a cup of coffee, added creamer, and sat down on the stool by the wall phone. I answered it coolly and formally. “Tacoma Pet Boarding. Good morning.”

“Celtsie, I swear I’m clean, I swear it, and it’s not that no one else wants to help me, it’s that they can’t help me. Only you. I need that magic shit you do, and listen, I can pay you. Or work for you or something.” The words poured out of him in one stream. I was silent.

“Celtsie?”

I said nothing.

“Celtsie, you didn’t hang up. Good. Listen, just listen. I know I did a shitty thing to you. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. If I could get back the necklace and earrings, I would, but the guy didn’t know who he sold them to.”

I felt a fresh surge of anger. Silver unicorn earrings and a necklace with a silver unicorn. A gift from my father and grandfather on my eleventh birthday, to make up for the fact that there was no owl post from Hogwarts. “Real silver for a really magical girl.” At least I still had the birthday card. But the earrings and necklace were gone. A part of my childhood stolen forever. I choked on it and could not tell if it was anger, hurt, or loss. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, refusing the tears, and opened them. Wet lashes. I kept silent. I wouldn’t let him hear the hurt in my choked voice.

“Listen, Celtsie, you there? Did you just leave the phone off the hook? Celtsie. Listen, if you can hear me, I’m in bad trouble and it’s not just me. It’s Selma, too. I don’t know if you can fix it but if you can’t, no one can.”

Selma. Like Farky, she’d gone to elementary school with me. She’d dropped out in eleventh grade. We were still friends in a very casual way. She worked at Expensive Coffee six blocks away. I swallowed. I’d gotten coffee from her about a week ago, a rare indulgence for me. When I thought about it, she’d been pretty flat that day. No special, “Hello, how are you?” And she had even asked me what I wanted. Selma’s known how I like my coffee for years.

“What happened to Selma?” I asked in a controlled voice. I suspected I knew. He’d probably stolen from her, too.

“I’ll tell you, but I got to tell you the whole thing. Can I come over?”

“No. The restraining order is still in place.” It was a lie. It had lapsed months ago.

“What? Still? Jeez, Celtsie, it’s been over a year!”

“Yeah, it’s worked for over a year.”

“Okay. Be that way. But I still need your help. Your magic. And you should do it, for Selma if not for me.”

“For Selma, I might. Not for you.” I had a feeling this was going to be a complicated thing, and not something I’d get paid for.

“Okay, so this is the deal. A few months back, I got into some trouble. I swear I didn’t know it was going to happen. Brodie asks me to drive him to the Seven-Eleven cuz he’s pretty drunk. He wants a burrito. So I drive him there. And he says, ‘Wait here,’ and he goes in. And then he comes running out and gets in the car saying, ‘Go, go, go!’ So I drive and he’s like looking back and everything, and I’m thinking, ‘Oh, shit, what did he do?’ and he tells me to drive around for a while, like go to Lakewood and back. And he has a brown sack, and when we go back to his apartment and go inside, he dumps money out of it onto the table.”

Not much surprising. Especially from Brodie.

“So I’m like, ‘What, you robbed the place?’ and he was like ‘Yeah, last time I was there I told them three burritos and I got home and there was only one in the bag, and when I went back, they said ‘too bad’ and wouldn’t fix it, so you know, they owe me.’ And I was like, ‘That’s stupid, man,’ and then someone pounds on the door, and it’s, like, the cops. They saw him on the security camera and knew him right away. So anyway, I got arrested, too.”

I was already tired of the story. “And how did this involve Selma?”

“I’m getting to that.” Oh, the whine in his voice was just too familiar. I nearly slammed the receiver down. Instead, I gripped it really tight and waited.

“So, anyway, I got Judge Mabel. You heard of her?”

I had. Everyone in Tacoma has a Judge Mabel story. She’s a local treasure. She’s made shoplifters wear sandwich boards outside the stores they stole from and johns hold signs on the street corners where they tried to pick up hookers. I waited.

“She says, ‘So you like to “just drive the car” for friends so much, you can drive for senior citizens who need errands done.’ And if my client doesn’t like my driving, instead of probation I’m in jail. So I say, yes, please, thinking I can do that easy. And a few days later, I get my assignment and I take the bus to Ms. Trudy Mego’s house, ’cause I got no car. And I knock on the door, and she comes, and this is no one’s old granny. This is like the Crypt Keeper in drag. Bony face, white hair with a flaky scalp showing through, skinny hands in gloves, and dressed in a black dress and black stockings and black old lady shoes. She has a black cane, and this big black purse, and a folded newspaper sticking out of the top of it. But, what the hell, better than jail, right? And there’s an old Mercedes parked in her carport, so I’m like, well, that’s cool, I never drove a Mercedes before.

“She gives me the keys and I open the door and it’s like, perfect, and I get in, but it stinks in there like vinegar. Really strong. But I start it up, and then she yells at me, all pissed. She’s like, ‘Get out of there! Open this door for me!’ And she’s going to ride in the back seat and I’m going to sit up front alone and drive her. Well, whatever! So I get out and I open the back door for her and she comes up to it, and then she turns her back to the seat and sits down on it, and then ducks her head and pulls in her arms and legs and her cane. I swear, it reminded me of a spider or an octopus or something getting into its hole. So I shut the door and ask what store she wants to go to, but she takes out a folded-up newspaper from her big ol’ black purse and says, ‘Just drive, I’ll tell you where.’ And I say, ‘I’m just supposed to take you to the store for groceries,’ and she leans forward and slaps me on the back of the head with the folded newspaper and tells me that it’s her car and she’ll tell me where to drive it or she’ll complain to social services. And then, instead of telling me, she opens her purse and takes out a whatchacallit, thing with girl face powder in it, and she takes a long time powdering her face.”