Free A Proper Wizard by Sarah Prineas Page A

relieved grin as Verent hauled himself onto the shore of one of the wizards’ islands. Verent paid the man—with a carefully calculated tip—and surveyed Heartsease. The island itself consisted of a tall, narrow, newly built house, a cobblestoned courtyard littered with building materials, and a huge black tree covered with black leaves. Verent shook his head. No, they weren’t leaves but sinister birds. He squinted. The birds, he realized, were watching him.
    Leaving the trunk for one of the wizard Connwaer’s servants to fetch, Verent strode across the courtyard and, ignoring the birds, went up the stairs. After straightening his robe and making sure his hair was lying down flat instead of sticking up, as it tended to do, he knocked at the front door of Heartsease.
    After he’d knocked again more loudly and impatiently, and waited a short while, the door was opened by a servant boy three or four years younger than he was, wearing a high-necked black sweater, overlong in the sleeves and unraveling along the bottom edge, brown trousers with a hole in one knee, and red woolen socks. One shoulder of the sweater, Verent noted, was shredded, as if something with sharp claws liked to perch there. A bird, perhaps. The boy’s dark hair needed cutting, and his eyes, which were bright blue and shadowed, as if he didn’t get enough sleep, regarded him questioningly.
    â€œI am here to see the greatest wizard of your city,” Verent announced grandly.
    The boy opened the door wider. “C’mon in. You’re Verent? From Danivelle?”
    â€œI am he,” Verent said with what he hoped was a dignified nod. The boy led him down a short hallway and into a study with two wide windows letting in plenty of late-afternoon light, sturdy, comfortable chairs, a thickly carpeted floor, and a fireplace at the opposite end where a bright fire burned. Against the walls were shelves crammed full of books and magical devices. Verent didn’t see anything that looked like a grimoire—a wizard’s spellbook. Before the fire sat a white-and-tabby cat, which regarded him solemnly and then turned its head away. Everything, except the cat, was overlain with a collection of books, papers, dirty teacups, half-empty bottles of ink and what looked like slowsilver, and magical paraphernalia, bits of machinery, and boxes of screws and rusty gears.
    Untidy, Verent thought. He swept his robe from his shoulders and held it out for the servant boy to take. “Here,” he prompted.
    The boy stared blankly at the robe for a moment, then took it and tossed it over the back of a chair. “D’you want some tea?” he asked.
    A Wellmet ritual, Verent was beginning to think. He’d been offered tea on the ship, as well, and at the docks when he’d gone into a shop to hire a boat. “Yes. I thank you,” Verent said. The climate here was cold and damp; maybe they needed frequent doses of hot tea to fortify themselves. Careful not to bump anything, he cleared room on a side table and set down his hat and gloves and, moving a few books from a chair to the floor, sat down. “If you please, will you tell me about him?” he asked.
    The boy had crossed to the hearth. Pulling his sleeve over his hand for a pot holder, he took a steaming kettle off a trivet and carried it to the table, where he poured boiling water into a teapot. “Tell you about who?” the boy asked, replacing the lid of the pot.
    The boy must be stupid, Verent thought. “I speak of the greatest wizard of our time, of course. What is he like?”
    â€œOh.” The boy returned to the hearth, where he crouched and set down the kettle. He seemed to be considering the question. “Well, some people are afraid of him.”
    Verent swallowed. He shouldn’t be surprised, considering what he’d heard about the great wizard. Even Master Poulet spoke of Connwaer in awed tones. Connwaer, it was said, had