Chapter 16
“Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown,” said Master Medwick, “this is your room. Make of it what you will. You will stay here until somebody comes for you. Do not even let it cross your mind to try and leave the Academy without express permission from me. The Academy is highly protected against disobedient apprentices such as you. Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown, your healing quest is at an end. Do you understand?”
I wanted to remind him that my cape clasp was still lit, but thought better of it.
“Yes, I understand what you are saying,” I replied.
“Good.”
Master Medwick sent a few thing bursts of flame at my cape clasp. I felt hot pricks just under my collar bone, but I tried not to let on he was hurting me. To my satisfaction, Master Medwick scowled at my clasp when he was through.
“That light should be out in full by next morning,” Master Medwick muttered.
Then he stomped out of my cell and slammed the door, leaving me in darkness. The first thing I did was take one of the light-makers Kenter had made me and make a small light out of it. As I suspected, the light revealed a totally empty cell. Even a prisoner on death row in my world gets a cot and a wash basin. Since I’m not good at making things with song, I had to make do with a lumpy mattress to appear on the floor. Too exhausted to be angry over this treatment, I collapsed onto the mattress and fell into an exhausted sleep.
The sound of a low-pitched bell vibrating through the walls woke me up some time later. I had idea how long I’d slept, and there were no windows to tell me if it was morning or night. I didn’t feel at all refreshed by my sleep, but sometimes oversleeping is the best way to stay tired. I wondered if I should go out and try to find out where I was supposed to go, but decided that Master Medwick probably meant business when he told me to wait for somebody to come get me. If he didn’t want me to be fed or taught, then I was going to have to languish in my cell. As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long before there was a loud banging on my door, and then the door opened before I could say “Come in.” Four teenagers, two boys and two girls, wearing purple capes stared at me. I’d seen them all before at the guildhall. They hadn’t liked me then, and they didn’t seem to like me now.
“Are you Nathaniel Hawthorne Brown?” asked a heavy-set boy with thick black, curly hair. He looked big enough to be a football player, and he sounded like a bossy sort.
“Yes,” I replied, still sitting up on my mattress.
“Don’t try anything,” the other boy threatened me, “we’re well-shielded.”
His build was as slight as the other boy’s was hefty. He looked like the type who tried to act tough so you wouldn’t think you could pick on him just because he was small.
“Is this all you can make out of your room?” asked one of the girls, a good-looking blond who looked snobbish enough to a billionaire’s daughter. “This isn’t much for a boy who can wreak so much havoc with his Gifted Singing.”
“I’m not good at making things appear,” I replied with as much dignity as I could muster.
“I guess not,” said the girl.
“We’re supposed to bring you to breakfast,” said the second girl, a plumb brunette who wasn’t particularly pretty, but not really ugly either, “so come with us.”
“And no tricks,” added the hefty boy.
So, Master Medwick wasn’t planning on starving me into submission, at least not yet. I got to my feet and followed the four apprentices out of my room, down a long hall way, down a steep flight of stone steps and down another long hallway into a large dining room with thick wooden beams under a ceiling so high I couldn’t see it clearly. On one wall, there was a large mosaic of several men and women in purple capes tending the wounds of people who had been badly hurt. The room looked big enough to seat two or three hundred people, but the five of us were the only ones there. Standing at a table was a girl whose mud-brown cape identified her as an apprentice for the Guild of Culinary Artists. She looked to be about Maranissa’s age, but she wasn’t Maranissa or anybody else from the guild that I’d met before. I held back when the four apprentices gave every indication that they felt entitled to be served ahead of me. Then I realized there were only four bowls of steaming porridge on the table. Maybe Master Medwick was going to starve me into submission after all. I stood awkwardly a few feet away from the serving table for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. Then, to my relief, the girl took another bowl from under her cape and held it out to me.
“For you, Nathaniel,” she said.
I took the bowl with thanks. Then I had to decide if I should sit with the other apprentices or not. My guess was that they didn’t want me, but they expected me to sit with them, so I did. They were slow to gift me with their names, but I finally did learn them, so I’ll give them here. The older, larger boy was Howard, and the younger and smaller one was Parrison. Charna was the snob and Marilyn the brunette.
“Where is everybody?” I asked, turning my head to all the empty tables.
“Taking care of the pestilenced,” Howard answered.
“Or, busy being pestilenced themselves,” added Charna.
“That’s where we would be if it weren’t for you,” said Marilyn.
“The youngest apprentices always get the dirty work,” said Parrison.
I thought of thanking these apprentices for being so kind and welcoming, but I held my tongue.
The porridge was much like what I’d gotten at the choristers’ cottage; which is to say it was really good. One bite, however, felt strange. It wasn’t the taste; it was the texture. My heart leaped a bit when I figured out what that might mean. I didn’t want the other guys to know I’d gotten a message, if that’s what I’d gotten. So, I took another spoonful and pretended to choke on it. I positioned the paper with my tongue so that it dropped into my hand when I put it over my mouth, and then sneaked it under my cape.
“Do you not even know how to eat Gifted Food?” asked Charna.
“I haven’t had time to get used to it,” I said.
“Is it true that you knew nothing whatever about Gifted Lore or Gifted Healing before Masteress Oldham assigned you to a healing quest?” asked Howard.
“Yes.”
“There are people who have been in the Guild for years without ever being assigned to even assist on a healing quest, let alone be the point person,” said Parrison.
“I didn’t exactly send a resume to this guild and beg them to hire me as a hot-shot doctor,” I said in reply.
“Masteress Oldham has not been able to keep the strangling pestilence from getting worse,” said Marilyn.
“From what I hear,” said Charna, “she won’t be around to contrive any more broken-brained schemes.”
I had the uncomfortable feeling that they considered Masteress Oldham’s asking me to go on a healing quest a broken-brained scheme.
“The number of our pestilenced cared-fors has more than doubled since you started your quest,” said Howard.
“And every Clan-transcendent Guild has set up strong shields against us for all of their still-healthy members because of you,” said Parrison.
“What do you want me to do about it, go home?” I asked.
Not that I had much of a home to go to, with my father dying of the pestilence. Mary Ann might feed me dinner once in a while, but that was about it.
“Boy, don’t we wish you could do that,” said Howard.
“We were ordered by Master Medwick to see if there is anything about Gifted Healing that you can learn that will be the least bit useful in treating our pestilenced cared-fors,” said Charna in a tone of voice that told me this was a horrible imposition on her.
“If you’re as hopeless as we think you are,” said Marilyn, “Master Medwick will send you home and never let you come back.”
“So, finish your breakfast, so we can get on with it,” said Howard.
I was wondering where Masteress Goldenaro was, and if she still might be able to help me. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could do to get in touch with her. The Guild of Gifted Healers didn’t exactly have cell phones. I gobbled up the last of my porridge and tried to think of a way to read my message sooner rather than later, as I was getting desperate for a friendly word.
“Where’s the wash room?” I asked.
The apprentices rolled their eyes at me, to suggest that I had asked an amazingly stupid question. But Marilyn pointed to a door, so I went over to it. The room was dark except for my cape clasp and I had to use a light-maker to see where the toilet was. What I saw instead were mops and brooms and other cleaning devices. The mops and brooms jittered back and forth as if they were expected to be put to work through some spell. Mad as I was at the cruel joke, I didn’t feel like sabotaging the academy by trying any Sorcerer’s Apprentice tricks. Most important, I had the opportunity I needed, so I quickly took out the message and read it:
With Maranissa’s help, we should cease being enforced guests where we are. Charles wants to check something in the Archives of Gifted Lore as soon as we get out. It seems easier to do this without trying to smuggle you in and out of the Archives. As soon as we’re done with that, we will come for you, and then we will finish your healing quest.
Pollo
At dinner on the day when that note was written, Masteress Carassima herself came to serve the meal, and one of the girls assisting her was Maranissa herself. Pollo and Charles knew better than to let on that they knew her during the uneventful meal. After desert was served, Masteress Carassima handed Pollo and Charles each what looked like a cupcake and said, “This is something extra to take to your room.”
As soon as they got to their room, Charles took a bite out of his cupcake, expecting both a sweet taste and a piece of paper. Instead, he got the taste of cement.
“What’s she trying to do? Poison us?” Charles asked. “I thought she was our friend.”
“Masteress Carassima told you to take it to your room,” said a familiar voice, “she didn’t tell you to eat it.”
Pollo and Charles shook their heads as a laughing Maranissa climbed through the secret opening into the room, followed by Mirry.
“What are we supposed to do with these, then?” asked Pollo.
“The answer is inside the cupcakes, of course,” Maranissa replied.
Charles and Pollo dug their fingers into their cupcakes and each pulled out a heavily folded piece of paper. Both of these unfolded to rather large sheets that, when put together, made up a drawing of a coach drawn by two flying horses. Although the outside looked something like a stagecoach, the inside design was almost as elaborate as a Space Trek ship. By this time, there was no question about what the cupcakes were really for. Thanks to the time spent reading Masteress Pentel’s magic books and Maranissa’s know-how, the two cupcakes were mixed together and my four friends cast the spell. I wish I’d been there to see it take effect. What I imagine is that the cupcakes merged and swelled like a loaf of bread rising way out of control. As this mega-bread loaf threatened to fill the room, part of it rounded out in the shape of a pumpkin that turned into a stage coach, and out of the other part of the loaf, two horse’s heads emerged, followed by their necks and flanks and, last of all, delicate, but strong, wings waving majestically on their backs. It was all like Cinderella, but this coach and horses wasn’t going to turn back to a pumpkin and mice at midnight, but was to serve us as long as we needed them. Mirry jumped up to the driver’s seat.
“All aboard!’ he whispered.
Pollo, Charles, and Maranissa dove into the coach and found themselves in a cozily furnished living room twice the size of the coach on the outside. The flying-horse-drawn coach, designed to fly between and around obstacles like molecules and atoms, had my friends out of the Pentels’ house long before anybody knew they were gone.
The note and the hope it gave me was enough to keep me going. It had to; it was all I had. I came out of the broom closet and endured the mockery of the other apprentices as best I could. I didn’t do a very good job. For one thing, I really did have to take a leak, and I wasn’t sure I would ever get to a real wash room ever again.
“For apprentices in a guild that’s supposed to be about helping people, you’re treating me pretty rotten,” I grumbled.
“O-o-o-oh,” Howard responded. “The new idealistic apprentice is getting self-righteous.”
“Better that than being mean like you,” I retorted.
Howard was right; I was being self-righteous, but I was upset about the difference between the Guild’s ideals and the way he was treating me. As it turned out, Parrison was kind enough to steer me to a real wash room, though he steered me by pushing me hard into it so that I almost fell over. Afer finally relieving myself, the apprentices took me to a room that had nothing but stone walls, a stone floor, and five wooden benches in it. We sat down and Charna did a little spell that caused a frightened tabby cat to appear on her lap. Understandably, the cat tried to jump off, but Charna turned it over on its back and held it down firmly.
“Nathaniel, we shall see if you are capable of learning an elementary healing spell for a small injury,” Charna announced. “First, take a moment to relax and gather your inner energies. Think healing.”
It should have been laughable to think of relaxing and healing in front of a girl like that, but I was hardly in a laughing mood after the way I’d been treated, and I was hardly in a frame of mind to relax. Even so, I did the best I could: I told myself to relax and think “healing” and then got mad at myself for feeling more agitated and angry than I was before.
“Ready?” asked Charna.
Without waiting for me to answer, she sent a knife-like jet of flame all along the cat’s stomach that left a cut about four inches long. The cat’s howl drove all relaxation out the window and made my bones cringe.
“That’s no way to treat a cat!” I protested.
“If you care about this cat,” said Parrison, spitting out his words, “then cure the thing.”
I quickly searched my memory for the healing chant Pollo had taught me to heal Mirry’s finger. I was pretty sure I remembered enough to do the job. I lifted a hand and sang the first note. A whoosh of flame from Parrison slapped me hard.
“No singing,” Howard ordered.
“But that’s my Gift,” I protested.
“And it’s your so-called Singing Gift that has done all this damage,” said Marilyn.
“Then how do you expect me to heal the cat?” I asked, writhing about as much as the poor cat on Charna’s lap
“That is what we are supposed to teach you, if you are teachable” said Charna. “Put your hand over the cat, and channel your thoughts into sending a healing flame to close the tear on the cat’s tummy.”
I tried doing what I was told, but nothing seemed to work, no matter how many times I tried. What was so frustrating about it was that every time I tried to channel my thoughts the way Charna told me to, all sorts of songs welled up inside me, begging to be sung. The cat continued to howl. Parrison smiled wickedly over its pain and my own discomfort. I felt all tied up in knots with frustration with not being able to help the poor cat.
“A truly hopeless case,” Charna finally said.
“Not the least talent for doing anything constructive,” said Parrison.
“No Healing Gift at all,” said Marilyn.
“Just as I thought,” said Howard, “a complete fraud created by Masteress Oldham’s delusionary mind.”
“Not that she has a mind anymore,” Marilyn quipped.
That did it. I snatched the poor cat off Charna’s lap, placed it on mine, and sang the first line of the healing chant as best I could remember it. I felt a hot stinging sensation in my hands from flame jets sent by the four other apprentices, but I gritted my teeth and endured the pain. A deep rumbling sound put a stop to the flame jets. The apprentices cried out as the stone walls collapsed all about us.