Chapter 1:
Black Magic. A disreputable topic by any stretch of the imagination. It was indecent, leading scholars told the world. An old-fashioned, blasphemous, preposterous joke. Only those too unintelligent or evil to study White Magic would waste their time with that disgusting subject.
'Black Magicians eat frogs,' it was whispered in the playgrounds of England. 'They eat 'em for breakfast, and for dinner, there's roasted leeches with tree bark.'
Thus Black Magicians--although not outlawed--were ejected for universities, and the Masters in the topic were reduced to small establishments in city suburbs where they would take on a few Apprentices every few years. Outside such an establishment, in North London, stood such an Apprentice.
Bony cheeks jutted forth, a sharp chin was thrust defiantly. Her eyes glittered with the sort of defensive determination that comes from an underdog intending to win. Her black hair hung to her mid-neck, mostly dark against the blood-red streak of one dyed lock. She wore a cotton brown dress; neat, albeit with lightly frayed edges and missing several buttons.
She started as the door to the terrace was thrown open, and a middle-aged woman wearing a full skirt and an apron--some kind of servant, perhaps?--launched herself through it. She looked the girl up and down, patting her ginger hair thoughtfully, and with a harsh Scottish accent, said:
'So where are your things, then?'
'I don't have any,' the girl said in her brassy tone. 'Is that a problem?'
'Of course it isn't.' The answer drifted out from inside, rapidly followed by an aging (yet not aged) man. The girl's tense features relaxed. Melkior--for that was the Master of Black Magic's name--had interviewed her previously. She was on familiar ground.
The woman shrugged. 'I suppose not. He would have made you bin anything you'd brought anyway. But most people try. Shall I make sure all is well in their room?'
'You do that,' replied Melkior, a hint of amusement in his voice. As she bustled inside, he beckoned to the girl and added, 'You must excuse her. She's quite lovable really. She
Black Magic. A disreputable topic by any stretch of the imagination. It was indecent, leading scholars told the world. An old-fashioned, blasphemous, preposterous joke. Only those too unintelligent or evil to study White Magic would waste their time with that disgusting subject.
'Black Magicians eat frogs,' it was whispered in the playgrounds of England. 'They eat 'em for breakfast, and for dinner, there's roasted leeches with tree bark.'
Thus Black Magicians--although not outlawed--were ejected for universities, and the Masters in the topic were reduced to small establishments in city suburbs where they would take on a few Apprentices every few years. Outside such an establishment, in North London, stood such an Apprentice.
Bony cheeks jutted forth, a sharp chin was thrust defiantly. Her eyes glittered with the sort of defensive determination that comes from an underdog intending to win. Her black hair hung to her mid-neck, mostly dark against the blood-red streak of one dyed lock. She wore a cotton brown dress; neat, albeit with lightly frayed edges and missing several buttons.
She started as the door to the terrace was thrown open, and a middle-aged woman wearing a full skirt and an apron--some kind of servant, perhaps?--launched herself through it. She looked the girl up and down, patting her ginger hair thoughtfully, and with a harsh Scottish accent, said:
'So where are your things, then?'
'I don't have any,' the girl said in her brassy tone. 'Is that a problem?'
'Of course it isn't.' The answer drifted out from inside, rapidly followed by an aging (yet not aged) man. The girl's tense features relaxed. Melkior--for that was the Master of Black Magic's name--had interviewed her previously. She was on familiar ground.
The woman shrugged. 'I suppose not. He would have made you bin anything you'd brought anyway. But most people try. Shall I make sure all is well in their room?'
'You do that,' replied Melkior, a hint of amusement in his voice. As she bustled inside, he beckoned to the girl and added, 'You must excuse her. She's quite lovable really. She
