A Sudden Wild Magic

Tod had been in this situation once or twice before. He had also, many times, stood in the margins when his numerous brothers-in-law quarreled with his sisters. But he had not felt so threatened by anything since he spent that time in Leathe. He could not understand it. “I told you,” Mark went on, in the most calm and domestic way, “that I am worn-out too, and I asked you to drive us both to Herefordshire because I’m tired enough to have an accident. I thought you agreed. The idea was that you’d have some food ready to take — because you know how I hate Gladys’s pies— and we’d pick it up and be on our way. I’m ready. I left the car running. And I find you aren’t even dressed.”

“You may have had all that clear in your head,” Paulie retorted, motionless as a statue, “but you didn’t make it clear to me. I don’t read minds, Mark. If you’d made yourself clear, I wouldn’t have invited Roddy round. Mark, this is Roddy.”

Mark turned to Tod and looked at him, truly, Tod thought, as if he had not noticed him until then. Tod’s sense of danger increased tenfold. The feeling of Leathe grew. Mark was, as most men were, considerably taller than Tod, and Mark was, after all, the husband Tod had been about to injure — which was awkward enough and put Tod at a disadvantage enough — but, as Mark’s gray, dispassionate eyes met his, Tod saw that the man was also a powerful mage. It was enough to make Tod, by reflex, call up his birthright. To his slight surprise, the birthright was half- roused already, waiting for his call. Maybe the feeling of Leathe, lurking between these two people, had been enough to trigger it.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Mark said.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Tod replied merrily. “I’m a total stranger in these parts. I—”

“Roddy is Tony’s brother,” Paulie interrupted. “You remember Tony, Mark? I’ve just been telling Roddy how Koppa and I found you wandering around London and took you in.”

That, Tod thought, was unneccessary. It was the remark of a complete bitch. His birthright felt Mark wince at it, though Mark gave no outward sign. The man was probably bleeding inwardly from a thousand such snide, wounding things. A great desire came upon Tod to be away from all this, out of the cloying poison of Leathe, not have anything more to do with these people.

“If you don’t mind,” he said firmly, “I’ll be getting along now. Nice to have met you — Paulie — Mark.”

Neither of them suggested that he stay. Neither even made a polite noise. They were locked in combat with no time to spare for Tod.

“Well. Good-bye,” Tod said. He left them standing there and got out of the house with long strides. His birthright told him that, in order to do so, in order just to make it through the front door, he went bursting through wards and barriers of truly formidable magework. The space in front of the house door was blocked now by a car that was presumably Mark’s. More barriers. Tod burst those too, dodged around the car, and fled to the pavement at the head of the short drive, where he stood breathing deeply and trying to recover what Arth and otherworld between them had left of his poise.

The footpath, and the road with it, was slightly raised above the ground where the houses stood. It was as if Tod were for a moment standing with his legs astride on top of otherworld — his birthright tended to give him this effect when it was roused. Now it served to show him that he had had enough of the place. He hated everything he had seen here, and Paulie most of all. There was no way he was going to do the High Head’s bidding and become Paulie’s lover. He would be sick. He was sick. He had to swallow. The homesickness that had overcome him in the center of town rose up in him and clamored.

“Damn it all to hellspoke!” Tod said. “I’m going home.”

To make this quite clear to himself, he fished the key to Brother Tony’s lodgings from its tight pocket and deliberately dropped it down a grating at his feet. Some kind of drain, he supposed. As the key clattered away, he felt nothing but relief.

“That settles it then,” he said.

Nobody had told him the thing was impossible. Nobody had even told him he was forced to serve out the rest of his service-year here — though the High Head had evidently intended that. But the High Head had clearly forgotten the little matter of Tod’s birthright. Tod had forgotten it himself. Brainwashed by Arth, he thought. Arth preferred not to know about magework outside its own control, and Tod had tried to be a good citizen of Arth. He was a little astonished at himself now. He had tried to be good. They would not let him. So he had better go home and put himself under August Gordano’s powerful protection. August would fight tooth and nail for his heir if necessary.