In the House of Madame Heretia by Scott Couturier

Author:Scott Couturier [Couturier, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00PCKXF50
Published: 2014-11-11T00:00:00+00:00

14: The Voice And The Doorway

The first two weeks of Kelrob’s apprenticeship went, if not exceedingly well, better than the mage had expected. He made few mistakes in his menial duties, taking pleasure in the endless washing-out of vials and bottles, in sweeping up the floors and dusting the huge rows of books in Madame Heretia’s study, and even in feeding the peacocks, a task that was normally performed by the Madame’s simulacrae. Apparently being fed by an inhuman construct caused the birds no end of mortification, to the point that their feathers fell out; so Kelrob scattered the feed, even got down on his haunches and spoke to the birds, who treated him with the elegant aloofness expected of their breed. He made better friends with a stray cat he found living under the foundations of Heretia’s house, and brought it bowls of milk twice daily. Still nameless, it was a welcome companion in the otherwise closed world he had entered. Single Spire brooded outside the Madame’s gates, shabby and dusty and horribly provincial; still, Kelrob would have liked to go for a stroll, even if it was just down to the market to buy supplies. This Heretia forbade. She went to the market herself, leaving him in charge of the house and a staff of five simulacrae that gave Kelrob the chills. He generally ordered them off to tasks in the far reaches of the house, then settled in for a bit of study, or bundled and hung herbs for the drying, or simply went and stared at the hovering menagerie, which drew him despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that it disquieted him. He spent several hours staring at the immobilized Ak, finding an unwholesome fascination in the way the creature’s eyes moved perpetually around the room, shaded always with bloodlust. Each time he left feeling troubled, deciding not to go back, only to return the next day.

He once again had the magic. It burned in him like an endless spring of life, revivifying and clarifying his perceptions, lifting veils and pumping vitality into his cells. Kelrob wondered how he had ever managed to live without it; perhaps that was why the details of his journey remained so muddy in his mind. He thrilled at the ability to perform minor cantrips, living in anticipation of the day when Madame Heretia would ask him to display his full abilities. Strangely, that day seemed slow in coming; the Madame was distracted, clearly by some very great and secret working.

The first night after he regained consciousness they had dined together. Kelrob had cast a spell to negate the bell’s soporific effect and listened to its ringing in fascination, his thoughts mercifully distracted from the swarm of simulacrae setting the table with food and wine and cutlery. It was a very great working, the bell, and he peppered Heretia with questions about it over their meal, the archmagister replying with generalizations and vagueness. This came as no surprise to Kelrob, who knew archmagisters were often protective of even their most prosaic secrets.

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