The Young Magician tlt-1 Page 8

  Samuel almost baulked on hearing the terribly low wage, but he had few other options at this point, so he had no choice but to accept.

  ‘I have my bag ready, Sir,’ Samuel declared, showing his bag to prove it.

  ‘He has his bag,’ Sparcock confirmed, nodding.

  Mr Kelvin scrutinised Mr Sparcock with some contempt, his brow creased and wrinkled, before turning back to Samuel with a warm smile. ‘Very well, young man, go out to the stables and become acquainted with the place. Good day, Mr Sparcock. Thank you for your visit.’

  With that they all stood and Mr Kelvin let them out.

  ‘Well done, lad,’ Sparcock bent over and said in a whisper. ‘Joshua will contact you when he needs you.’

  Samuel nodded and wandered off to find his new workplace, while Sparcock was led by the long-nosed fellow out to the front gate.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Magician’s Lights

  The stables of the Burning Oak were as clean and organised as his uncle’s were dirty and disorderly. The floor was spotlessly clean and the half-dozen horses stabled there were all well bred, with fine posture and gleaming coats-not like the ragged nags he had always groomed before. Beside the entrance, he found a small room with a proper bed and a shelf above it and a chest for keeping his belongings in. The drawers were all hanging out as if the last stableboy had left in an almighty hurry, with one stocking still lying on the floor. The room had a door he could close and was not at all draughty like the stall his uncle had given him-it was like a real room.

  Samuel was putting his new clothes carefully into the drawers when a knock came at the door and Mr Kelvin entered, his hands clasped together in front of him.

  ‘Please forgive me for seeming a little absent-minded at times,’ he said, smiling down, ‘I do have a lot on my mind at the moment. What is your name, young man?’

  ‘Samuel, Sir.’

  ‘Very well, Samuel. Breakfast is served at seven, lunch at noon and dinner at seven. Yours will be given to you at the kitchen door and you should bring it back to your room to finish. Our guests demand the highest privacy and so you should not bother them in the slightest. You may not wander around inside the inn, but you are free to roam the gardens as you choose. Also, you strictly cannot leave the grounds without my approval and most important of all-should you learn or see anything that could be considered…well, let’s say, should you learn or see anything at all, you should not speak of it to anyone. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Kelvin,’ Samuel responded with a gulp.

  Mr Kelvin smiled then. ‘Excellent! Here is your first month’s pay in advance.’ And he handed Samuel his coins and promptly turned and left, leaving Samuel grinning into his palms with glee.

  It took Samuel several days to adjust himself to his new environment, with the long-nosed and ever-brooding servant, Kans, helping him begrudgingly whenever he had a question. Samuel quickly learned the most surprising thing about the Burning Oak-everyone there wore entirely black clothes without exception and there were no women at all. Unlike the men of the town, very few of them sported beards or long hair, seeming to focus fastidiously on keeping themselves well groomed, having everything combed and tucked into place. Most came and went wearing an entirely black cloak that covered black shirt and black trousers, so that they looked very mysterious, and they spoke little, although they were usually polite and well spoken when he did manage to wrestle some words out of them. Samuel was instructed to leave them be and not to bother them, which he thought was fine, because the few times he had tried speaking with the men, they had stared at him intensely-as if there was some bizarre object growing from the side of his head. They would always say very little and then find some excuse to send him away again.

  There was always much work to be done at the Burning Oak, yet Samuel found the experience very rewarding. He actually took pleasure in keeping the stable neat and the horses well groomed and fed. The guests of the inn came and went day and night, so that he was often woken at all hours. But they were always polite and patient with Samuel when he struggled with the saddles and harnesses, even helping him when he faltered, which was quite often at first, for many of these horses were tall-great mountains of muscle compared to the stubborn ponies he was used to.

  Samuel was sometimes given time in the afternoons to do as he wished and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he found himself with more time than he knew what to do with. Kans, somehow knowing when he was scaling the walls or adventuring within the branches of a tree, would scurry out from the inn and tell him off, saying how such conduct was intolerable. Unruly behaviour was scowled upon by the inn and its guests and so Samuel was forbidden to make noise or do anything that might disturb their thoughts. For a boy such as he, this meant anything remotely enjoyable.

  Samuel had found a small box of chalk hidden away in the back of the stable and he pushed a few short pieces into his pocket. That afternoon, he sat by the furthest wall in the garden and drew simple pictures with his chalk on the smooth paving stones at the wall’s base. He thought it such a harmless thing, as he could always rub the marks away with his sleeve, but he was always wary of the guests, lest he should somehow disturb them. He drew people and animals and beasts that he had heard of; battles and castles and rivers and moats. Finally, as the afternoon sun waned and his hands and sleeves were white with chalk, Samuel lay beside his drawings and looked up at the sky. He had not been allowed from the confines of the inn for all his time here so far. He could often hear wagons and people passing by just beyond the wall, and longed to be away from the quiet, strange, black-clothed men and experience the colours and smells and sights and sensations of the town and the market place. Most of all, he missed Jessicah and her reassurance. He did not have to fear a beating from his uncle here, but neither did he have any friends to talk with. Along with the boredom, he found himself feeling terribly lonely.

  As his thoughts turned to Jessicah, Samuel sat up and began dragging his chalk once more across the stones. He was surprised to look down and find that he had scrawled some letters and decided to see what words he could remember. He wrote ball and boy and dog and bone. He wrote three whole columns of the words he could remember, and then he began on the numbers, progressing from one to twenty, before a voice called his name from afar, and Samuel was up, scuffing quickly at the markings with his feet before running back to the stable.

  Another guest had arrived and Samuel was summoned to care for the horse he had arrived on. Kans came to help him check the animal over and the rest of the afternoon was taken up with a list of chores that Kans had produced from thin air. As Samuel swept and brushed and polished and tidied, he scowled at the pointy-nosed man from afar.

  The months, at first slow, had been passing very quickly and Samuel now felt quite proficient at his job. He had found the perfect balance of busyness that kept Kans satisfied and also allowed Samuel free time to rest or do as he pleased. The guests often commented on his good work and he was pleased when they did so. Although he was now firmly set in a daily routine, something unusual began happening in the odd hours of the night. Samuel found himself often waking for no apparent reason. He would lie there, staring at the roof, unable to return to sleep for some time. Perhaps he was catching a cold. He had not been ill since leaving the filthy stall he had slept in at his uncle’s. This room was like a real room in a real house, all cosy and comfortable. It was the most pleasant room he could imagine, with a soft bed and drawers and everything he could want for. His life seemed ever-changing, but at last it was changing for the better.

  Samuel was bursting with excitement when he was finally given an errand to run to the market. The cook at the Burning Oak was simply known as Cook, and she was chiefly responsible for ordering the food and wine to be consumed, but on this particular day, she had finished all her supplies of some particular spice, so Samuel had been sent to fetch some more. She had given him a note with exactly what to buy, and how much, so he could n
ot possibly make any mistakes. He had been surprised, at first, to learn there was a woman in the Burning Oak, but then Samuel supposed that she was just a worker, the same as he was. She was actually quite friendly and very talkative, so Samuel found himself often lingering outside the kitchen door or helping her in the kitchen with the peeling and cutting of vegetables.

  Naturally, upon being set free back into the town, Samuel went directly to his uncle’s inn and, peeping through the door, managed to get Jessicah’s attention. She nearly cried out with glee at seeing him and they dashed out into the street together while he told her all the news and what he had been up to.

  ‘How are Aunt and Uncle?’ Samuel asked at one point.

  ‘The same,’ she replied. ‘They were so angry the day you left. They had to pay ten crowns to those guards. It’s probably best you did go, because I’m sure Father would have thrown you out. But the next day, someone came in and gave my father a black eye. He thinks that you put someone up to it, somehow. Oh, I didn’t know what had happened to you, Samuel. I’m so glad to see you!’

  He told her all about his new job and the strange people and the beautiful garden. After a time, he realised he had been away far too long and so he kissed her on the cheek and rushed off to find the merchant described on his note, promising to visit when he could. It was by no means enough time with Jessicah, but if he was tardy during his first time out from the Burning Oak, they would be far less likely to let him out again soon, so he hurried on with his errand as quickly as he could.

  As he hastened back with the large jar of odorous spice firmly under one arm, Samuel was surprised to find Mr Joshua waiting for him on the side of Darmour Street. There was a boy with him that Samuel had played kick-ball with many times. His name was Fennian and he was a year or two younger than Samuel-a strangely quiet boy.

  ‘Hello, Samuel,’ Mr Joshua greeted him warmly. ‘I believe you know Fennian. He’s doing a bit of work for me now.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Joshua,’ Samuel returned. ‘Hi, Fennian.’ The other boy raised his hand in greeting without any hint of interest.

  ‘How are your new employers treating you?’ Mr Joshua asked.

  ‘Wonderfully. Of course, there’s lots of work, but they treat me very well.’

  ‘Good…good,’ Mr Joshua mused. ‘So…can you tell me anything of interest?’

  ‘Only a few names, I’m sorry, Mr Joshua. I’m not allowed to talk to the men there and I’m not allowed inside the inn, either.’

  ‘Well, names will do for now, but you’ll have to give me something else eventually. Do you have a list?’

  ‘In my head,’ Samuel said slyly and Mr Joshua laughed. ‘Let’s see. Mr Kelvin is the boss. He’s always there. And so is Kans, his servant and Cook; she’s the cook. The others are never there for very long at all. Mr Reese, Mr Castle and Mr Finnius Ickle all left together last week. Mr Wren came and left on the very same day, in an awful hurry, and now we have Mr Giles, Mr Geoffries and Mr Copperpot, a man called Malcolm Sloan and some other man whose name I don’t know yet; all staying for at least a week.’

  Mr Joshua was very pleased. ‘Just a few names, indeed! You’re a very bright lad, Samuel. That Mr Wren fellow interests me greatly and a few other names help, as well. Keep trying to get more information and I’ll contact you soon. Find somewhere safe for this,’ and he gave Samuel three crowns. ‘You can’t come and see me, so you may need a little money.’

  With that, he turned and left, with Fennian dragging his feet behind. Samuel had to run as hard as he could to get back in good time but, when he did, Cook was quite surprised to see him so soon. Apparently, the last stablehand was always much slower and took all day to run even the simplest errand. Cook seemed very pleased. Samuel smiled, making a mental note to take his time in future.

  Samuel was kneeling in a flowerbed, pulling up weeds by the roots according to the precise instructions from Kans. A small pile of plucked weeds was forming beside him and he was working quite carefully, yet somehow he had become dirty from head to toe. He was having a busy day so far, with Kans giving him many a chore in the gardens, stating that he had much to do inside, himself. Samuel was always itching with curiosity to see inside the inn. Except for that first day, Samuel had set not a single toe on the finely polished floorboards inside, save for helping Cook in her kitchen.

  Samuel wondered who the people of the Burning Oak really were. The brightness around them marked them apart from other people, even more so than their drab clothing habit. It seemed to be a sign of something different, something special and it made him more and more curious all the time. He planned to ask some questions and try to learn something of the truth, but it would not be easy getting answers out of any of these elusive guests.

  Footsteps beside him suddenly caught his attention and he looked up to discern the figure-its face a black silhouette against the bright glare of the sun.

  ‘Hello, Samuel,’ said the man. It was Mr Kelvin. He bobbed down to squat beside Samuel. ‘You’re getting very dirty, indeed, my son.’ Samuel shrugged at this and wiped his running nose with his arm. ‘I was walking in the garden this morning when I noticed some of your chalk-marks by the wall over there and I realised I’ve been irresponsible in ignoring your education. The last lad here was much older than you, and admittedly quite a dense boy, but I think you have potential that should not be wasted. You do fine work in the stables. I think you should be rewarded beyond mere board, lodgings and your wage. An education is far more valuable than any of these things.’

  Samuel realised his sums and pictures, drawn time after time on the same spot, had been making a mess. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Kelvin,’ he said hastily. ‘I’ll wash it off at once.’

  He leapt up, but Mr Kelvin raised a solemn hand.

  ‘No, my boy,’ he reassured. ‘I don’t mind that, but I think I’ll get you some paper and a writing set, so that you don’t have to sprawl yourself out in the garden and I shall begin teaching you to read, write and calculate some sums, myself. I have some free time on occasion. Would you like that?’

  Samuel was not sure. His father had always been in favour of education and Samuel did enjoy it, but he had spoken little to Mr Kelvin and was not sure if he would enjoy such tutoring. Most grown-ups, after all, had little patience for youth. Then again, he supposed, he could always find a way to stop once he started. He nodded to Mr Kelvin.

  A smile beamed across Mr Kelvin’s sober brow. ‘Very good. After you finish here, go wash yourself, then fetch some dinner from Cook and I’ll come and see you. It’s a shame you cannot come to my study,’ he said, half to himself, ‘but we do what we can, don’t we? Goodbye, Samuel.’

  With that, Mr Kelvin stood up and turned away, strolling in his usual unhurried manner back towards the inn, his black cloak hem just floating above the path.

  Samuel was polishing a saddle by lamplight at the back of the stables, when Mr Kelvin appeared at the doorway, carrying an armful of rolled papers.

  ‘Ah, Samuel,’ he called, smiling and observing the walls around him. ‘What a wonderful job you’ve made of this old stable. Everything in its place! Come, let us begin.’

  Samuel carefully latched the lid back onto the jar of varnish and followed Mr Kelvin into his room. Mr Kelvin was looking the place over.

  ‘This will never do,’ he remarked, shaking his head. ‘I’ll arrange tomorrow for a study desk. We can’t have you writing on your lap.’

  Mr Kelvin sat down upon Samuel’s bed and laid out the papers. He drew out a thin book, a small black jar and a feather that had been tucked inside his shirt and laid them out carefully. Samuel sat next to him.

  ‘This,’ Mr Kelvin began, pointing to the jar, ‘is an inkwell. The ink is very strong, so beware not to spill it or there will be a stubborn stain, indeed.’ Mr Kelvin carefully unscrewed the tiny cap from the jar and dipped the pointed end of the feather in it. ‘You dip the quill, like so, with just enough ink on the nib and then you are ready to write. It’s much
better than dusty old chalk.’

  He unrolled a piece of paper beside them on the bed and, holding it with one hand, drew a single short line; the number one, Samuel thought.

  ‘This will never do,’ Mr Kelvin muttered to himself, perturbed by the difficulties of writing upon a mattress. ‘Tomorrow night I will show you properly, but tonight, I guess this will have to do. Now, once you have written what you will, or the ink is exhausted, you blot the parchment thus, or it will run.’ He demonstrated by patting the ink with a small piece of blotting paper.

  Samuel had seen all this before in Mr Joshua’s office, but he was intrigued with the precision and care that Mr Kelvin took. Samuel had only written with chalk or a charcoal marker before. He twitched with excitement.

  ‘Now, Samuel. What do we have here?’

  Samuel examined the writing paper. ‘A number one?’

  Mr Kelvin smiled and nodded. ‘Very good, Samuel. Number one. It is the smallest number that can be, for before that, there is no single thing. It is the beginning number. All things must begin somewhere, and this is our beginning. Before number one-there is nothing.’

  Samuel was mystified by his comments, but then remembered something Jessicah had told him. ‘But what about zero?’ Samuel asked. ‘You can have zero crowns, can’t you? — even half a crown? I learnt that before from my cousin.’

  ‘Can you?’ Mr Kelvin asked. ‘Go get me zero sheep, zero ships or zero apples? You cannot, for less than one of anything does not exist, except in our minds as a concept-for there is only something, or a lack of something. You cannot cut a nothing in half and have half a nothing. If you cut an apple in half, your mind tells you that you have half an apple. In reality, you have one apple half. You can never have less than one something, or you have nothing.’