the way from the other side of the mountains with him. He dropped the filthy rag into a bowl held waiting by the servingman, who gave it the same dead-rat look he’d given Nate and whisked it away. In a moment he was back to lead Nate down the hall and through a set of double doors into a room warm with oil lamps, where the magus sat in one overstuffed armchair and another man, so lushly dressed he could only be a courtier, sat in another. There were plenty of other places to sit; the room was crammed with far too much furniture, all of it too opulent for the space. Nate remained standing.
The magus was aged and balding, the ponytail that marked his trade long and braided more intricately than was technically necessary. The packet of waxed paper lay open in his lap, the letter of introduction in his hand. “Nathaniel Clare,” he said.
No handshake, then. Nate bowed instead. “Magus.”
The courtier, whose curled hair gleamed like spun gold in the firelight, examined his painted fingernails, his legs in their violently-colored trousers stretched languidly out in front of him. The magus shook the letter. “I’ve never heard of any of these people, Nathaniel Clare.”
“Pardon, magus. They’ve heard of you.”
“So has the slopman who comes twice a week for the garbage. Shall I take him as an apprentice, too?” the old man said, one eye on the courtier for approval.
The courtier obliged him with a high, mannered titter, which the magus lapped up like a cat with a saucer of cream. “Now, Arkady. Don’t torment the poor boy.” The courtier’s voice was deeper than the titter would have led Nate to believe. His thick-kohled eyes landed on Nate with only the most distant interest. “The magus doesn’t know Lord Tensevery, but I do. And he, apparently, knows you.”
“I grew up on his estate, in Duviel,” Nate said.
The magus peered at the letter. “This says you saved his daughter’s life.”
Nate bowed again. “A fever. It might have broken anyway.”
“The Tenseverys are in forestry,” the courtier said, stroking the wood armrest of his overstuffed chair. “This very mahogany might have come from their mills.” His eyelashes fluttered. “You know their son, Landon, boy?”
“I know of him, lord courtier. He’s well known, and well liked.”
The magus sat back. “What did you give the girl for her fever?”
“Willowbark.”
“For rheumatism?”
A test, then. “The same.”
“Convulsions?”
“Valerian.”
“Pox?”
“Depends on the pox,” Nate said. “For small blisters, a redfern poultice, but for flat pox, I’d use chokeweed.”
The magus grunted. The courtier yawned. The fire crackled.
Nate waited.
Eventually the magus leaned back in his chair. “You’re fortunate that Lord Bothel happened to be here when you arrived, and that he knows the Tensevery family well enough to vouch for them.” His eyes on Nate were cold. “I’ve never taken an apprentice before. I don’t know how I’ll like it.”
“What’s not to like?” Lord Bothel said with a languid wave of his hand. “The magus at my father’s estate is never without one. Sorry wretches, most of them. But it’s free labor. And good to have somebody to do the tedious tasks.”
The magus grunted again. “Indeed.” He considered a moment. Then he threw Nate’s letter into the fire, where it instantly began to smolder around the edges. Nate’s hopes flared with it. Ordinarily, the gesture would have been a threat and a demonstration: without a letter, he wouldn’t be able to get an apprentice position with any other magus in the city, so he’d be stuck with Arkady. But Nate’s circumstances weren’t ordinary. No other magus in Highfall was of any use to him. It was Arkady or nobody.
“I won’t pay you, but I’ll feed you,” the old man said. “You’ll sleep in the kitchen. Vertus will show you the way.”
Nate bowed one last time, low and grateful and completely sincere. “Thank you, magus. You won’t be sorry.”
“The more you speak, the sorrier I’ll be,” Arkady said, and Nate felt the servingman, who must be Vertus, at his side. Quickly, before the magus could change his mind, he bowed again and backed out of the room.
“The more fool you,” Vertus said when they were well down the hallway and away from the parlor. “That man’s so mean he shits stone.”
“You’d know,” Nate said.
Vertus grinned. “You’ll eat well, so there’s that. I’ll bring blankets. You can make a pallet here by the stove.”
The place Vertus pointed out was thick with coal dust. “And the laboratory?”
“Through there.” Vertus nodded at a closed door. “It’ll be