The Mage frowns. “The spell doesn’t work with larger birds.”
“I know, sir. I’m sorry. He wouldn’t listen.”
“Well.” He claps my shoulder. “It wasn’t an emergency. I just wanted to see you. To check on you. Miss Possibelf told me about the attack, the bugs—she said it was the Humdrum.”
Flibbertigibbets. In Magic Words class. A whole swarm of them. I’d never even seen a swarm of flibbertigibbets before.
We call them bugs because they’re about the size of bumblebees, but flibbertigibbets are more like birds. One can kill a dog or a goat or a gryphon. Two or three can take down a magician. They burrow into your ears and buzz so loud, you can’t think. First you lose your mind—and then they get to your brain, and you lose everything else.
Flibbertigibbets don’t attack people, not usually. But they came in through the classroom window last week and surrounded me like a chattering orange cloud. The worst part was that dry, sucking feeling that always accompanies the Humdrum’s attacks.
Everybody else in the class ran.
“It felt like the Humdrum, sir. But why would he send flibbertigibbets? They’re hardly a threat.”
“Not for you, certainly.” The Mage rubs his beard. “Maybe he just wants to remind us that he’s out there. What’d you hit them with?”
“Dead in the air.”
“Well done, Simon.”
“I … I think I killed some other things, too. Ebb found pheasants in the field. And Rhys had a parakeet.…”
The Mage glances at the robin flitting above his shoulder, then squeezes my arm. “You did what you had to. And no one was hurt. Did you see the nurse?”
“I’m fine, sir.” I step closer. “Sir. I was hoping—I mean. Have you made any progress? With the Humdrum? I see the Men coming and going. But I don’t—I could help. Penelope and me. We could help.”
His hand slips from my shoulder, and he rests it on his hip. “There’s nothing to report on that front. No breakthroughs, no attacks. Just the constant widening of the holes. I almost wish the Humdrum would show his face again”—I shudder at the memory of that face; the Mage goes on—“to remind these backwards fools what we’re really up against.”
I look over his shoulder at the truck. The Men have been carrying boxes past us the whole time we’ve been talking.
“Sir, did you get my note?”
He narrows his eyes. “About the missing Pitch boy.”
“About my roommate. He still hasn’t come back.”
The Mage rubs his beard with the back of his leather glove. “You’re right to be concerned, I think. The Old Families are closing ranks, calling their sons home, bolting their gates. They’re readying to make a move against us.”
“Their sons?”
He starts rattling off names—boys I know, but not well. Sixth, seventh, and eighth years.
“But surely,” I say, “the Families know that the Humdrum will finish us if we don’t stand together. He’s more powerful than ever.”
“Perhaps that’s part of their plan,” the Mage says. “I’ve stopped trying to figure these people out. They care more for their own wealth and power than for our world. Sometimes I think they’d sacrifice anything to see me fall.…”
“How can I help, sir?”
“By being careful, Simon.” He puts his hand on my arm again and turns to face me. “I’m leaving again in a few hours. But I was hoping, in the light of this new attack, that I could convince you to heed my words. Leave here, Simon. Let me take you to the haven I spoke of—it’s the farthest I can put you from danger.”
I take a step back. “But it was just flibbertigibbets, sir.”
“This time.”
“No. Sir. I told you … I’m fine here. I’m perfectly safe.”
“You’re never safe!” he says, and he says it so fiercely, it almost seems like a threat. “Safety, stability—it’s an illusion. It’s a false god, Simon. It’s clinging to a sinking raft instead of learning to swim.”
“Then I may as well stay here!” I say. Too loudly. One of the Mage’s Men, Stephen, looks up at me. My voice drops: “If nowhere is safe, I may as well stay here. With my friends. Or I may as well fight—I could help you.”
We lock eyes, and I see his fill with disappointment and pity. “I know you could, Simon. But the situation is very delicate right now.…”
He doesn’t have to finish. I know what he means.
The Mage doesn’t need a bomb.
You don’t send bombs on reconnaissance missions or invite them to strategy meetings. You wait until you’ve run out of options, then you drop them.
I nod my head.
Then I turn away from him, walking back towards the heart of the grounds.
I can feel his Men watching me. They’re all just a year or two older than I am. I hate that they think they’re even older—that they feel so important. I hate the dark green breeches they wear, and the gold stars on their sleeves.
“Simon!” the Mage shouts.
I flatten my expression, then turn back.
He’s holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He gives me a rare smile. A small one. “The Humdrum may be more powerful than ever, but you’re more powerful than ever, too. Remember that.”
I nod and watch him walk back to the garage.