Free Small Magics by Erik Buchanan Page A

who brought man tools and taught them to use them. The theatres all have images of the Daughter carved into their stages. Of course,” he added carefully, “I never heard about the daughter giving man magic.”
    “No one has, laddie,” said Timothy, raising his empty glass to Thomas. “It makes a great yarn, though.”
    “Aye, it does,” said Thomas. “Do you believe it?”
    Timothy lowered his glass. His eyes, which had been gently unfocused with the alcohol, were now looking sharply into Thomas’s. “Now why would I believe it?”
    “Because you have magic.”
    In the dim light of the last flames, Thomas saw Timothy go pale. “I have no magic, boy.”
    “You made a ball of light appear out of your hand,” said Thomas. “You made it float, and you made it disappear afterwards.”
    Timothy waved the idea away with a harsh slash of his hand at the air. “Nonsense! All I did today was fool the lot of you.”
    “I was watching you,” Thomas said slowly, “after the trick to see where you were hiding the ball.”
    “Were you now?” Timothy looked away. Abruptly he got to his feet. “And what did you see?”
    Thomas suddenly felt nervous. He plunged on anyway. “I saw you take that ball out of your jacket pocket after the trick was over.”
    Timothy’s hand was shaking when he raised his mug to drink again. He realized it was empty, and tossed it onto the grass. “Look, lad, I don’t know what you thought you saw—”
    “Magic, you said.”
    “Illusion,” corrected Timothy. “Tricks to deceive the eye.”
    Thomas shook his head, remembering what he saw. “Magic.”
    “Dammit, boy!” Timothy snapped, bringing Thomas upright with his sudden vehemence, “It was a trick! It was my best one, but it was still just a trick!”
    “It was real,” Thomas insisted.
    “It was a ball on a thread!” Timothy was sweating now, “and you’ll get me burned if you keep noising about witchcraft!”
    “I’m not talking about witchcraft, I’m talking about magic!”
    “And who but a scholar knows the difference?” demanded Timothy. “And who but a scholar cares? Everyone else would be happy to burn a man for witchcraft if they knew about it!”
    “They don’t burn you for witchcraft,” Eileen said in a soft, sleepy voice. “They hang you.”
    Both men stared at her in surprise and she blinked back at them, her eyes half-open. As they watched, she snuggled her head against the blanket. “Is it time to go home yet, Thomas?”
    “Aye, I think it is,” Thomas said, still looking at the juggler.
    “Well, tell me when to get up.” Her eyes closed again.
    Timothy’s voice was much quieter when he next spoke. “Look, Scholar, you said there’s no such thing as witchcraft.”
    “Aye,” Thomas nodded. “I did.”
    “There you go, then. There’s no such thing.” He rose up and began kicking dirt into the fire. “It’s time you left.”
    “Timothy,” Thomas forced himself to think through the alcohol. “I didn’t say you used witchcraft…”
    Timothy said nothing, just kept kicking dirt on the fire until the last of the flames died and the only light was the dim red glow of the embers beneath.
    “Please,” Thomas said. “All I want to know is if it’s real.”
    Timothy stopped kicking at the coals and stared at the ground for a time. The thin red light made his face old, bringing out every line of worry and strain. “Those three you chased off also asked about witchcraft, lad.”
    Thomas heard the fear in Timothy’s voice, saw it in his face. Timothy didn’t say anything more, just stood there, looking into the dying fire. With a sudden movement he kicked once more and smothered the last of the coals.
    “I’m sorry,” said Thomas into the darkness. “I won’t talk about it again.”
    It took Timothy a long time to answer, his voice floating out of the night to Thomas. “Do you promise?”
    “I do. And I’ll swear by the Four as well if you like.”
    Timothy chuckled. “No need,