The Shifty Captive by Cathy Smith

Author:Cathy Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: con artist in over his head, undergoes a magical initiation in his captive state, eye witness to a death curse, hidden world of magical trade, the hidden world of black magic, backfiring magical spells, rogue who moonlights by running scams and frauds
Publisher: Cathy Smith
Published: 2017-11-17T00:00:00+00:00

AT LEAST THE AUTHOR’S voice trick was a benign magical talent. I could contribute to Damien's studies without engaging in black magic. However, I didn't like gardening, and was miserable the first day I had to do it myself. The heat made me dry and itchy like I was about to break out in hives. Yet I'd pass patches of ground and feel a chill. It was a risk, but I was going back inside to lie down. Damien may be cross but like Tobias I was an asset worth maintaining! Surely, I could argue my case?

As soon as, I stepped out of the garden all the feelings left me, “Huh?”

I took a step back, and the feelings returned, “No!”

Tobias cackled as he fluttered in a bird bath while I worked. “The garden won't tend itself, Shifty.”

“The plants are as prickly as the tricks!” I said.

“I doubt it!” he squawked.

There was a sprinkler can, and I filled it. When I stepped into the garden, I felt like drinking it myself. Instead, I poured it out onto the nearest plant, stopping when my thirst passed. I did this with the whole garden and it took up the rest of the afternoon.

The plants spoke, but I needed the gardener apprentice’s journal to tell me how to ease each plant’s complaint.

If they were hungry, I had to apply its favorite fertilizer. When they were thirsty, I watered the plants until the thirst was slackened. I put canvas over one getting chilled in passing. If it was always cold, I moved it to a sunnier spot. I hoed when I felt breathless. Fruits, branches, and vines were pruned and picked when I felt heavy.

My responsiveness to the plants' needs worried Damien, “You're my servant not theirs.”

I looked forward to the gardening chore as a chance to get out of the house. Being a magician’s plot it was both easier and harder to tend than a normal garden. Gardening used to be my most regular punishment back at the orphanage. I hated weeding and I would be forced to hoe in the hot sun or pluck up weeds until my back was sore. The wards kept me from having to do any of that. Half the plants in the garden, the most ornamental half, were only illusions, and needed no care at all.

However, the plants that were actually there were dangerous. They didn’t sit in their spots like regular plants. Their roots kept them to the ground but their branches, tendrils, runners, and stems could move.

The bloodthorn bush was the biggest menace, and I was always on guard against it. I kept its flowers pink, but it always wanted more blood. It kept trying to prick me. Whenever I was close by it angled its thorns toward me. Sometimes it even made the thorns grow longer to increase its range.

The nettles were prickly too, and I always wound up with some of them on my clothes. I couldn’t understand the need for the nettles. The bloodthorn bush was a deterrent for intruders.

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