The Magician shut the door behind us and pointed at a stack of giant throw pillows heaped on the floor away from the center of his workroom. “Have a seat, you two. I must finish some things before I lose my thoughts.”
He bustled around one of his worktables, dampening the flames of several small gas burners heating a collection of flasks. The glassware held strangely colored liquids that burbled and belched steam clouds of a dubious nature. A large slate hung on the only bare wall in the room, and Otokar scribbled several unintelligible symbols on the board’s dark surface. I turned to Gideon and gave him a questioning look. He shook his head and frowned. In Otokar’s workroom, we were both far beyond our realms of knowledge and comfort.
The Magician set down his chalk and brushed the residue from his fingers. “This thing you ask me to do, it can be hard, or it can be easy. If you had something that belonged to these Fantazikes, something personal, it would be easy to locate them. Do you possess such an item?”
I held out my hands, empty palms open. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
Otokar exhaled. “It is as I expected. To locate something unknown is more difficult.” He crossed the room and stopped before his bookshelves, arms folded over his chest, finger to his lips as he inspected his collection. “It requires the skill of scrying or divination. This is a skill some are good at, and others...not too much.”
“Are you good at it?” I asked. “Or not too much?”
He plucked a heavy book from his shelf, carried it to a worktable, and cracked it open. “If you were asking me to tell you where these Fantazikes will be in the future, it would be much harder. But you are only asking me to tell you something that is happening now. Where your friends are at this moment—this is what you want to know. Am I correct?”
I nodded and he continued. “This is not so easy, but it is easier than telling the future.” He scurried around the room, collecting a shallow golden bowl and a pitcher of water. He set these next to his book. From the folds of his cloak he removed a small blade. After referring to his manual, he scratched his knife against the bowl’s wide rim, etching something in the soft gold.
“What are you doing?” Gideon asked. He shifted, leaning around me to get a better look.
“Ancient symbols, given to us by the gods long ago. Your first ancestors, Lady Thunder, they gave these glyphs to their most trusted followers. Those men were my ancestors—the first Magicians. Used in the right combinations, these figures act as keys, unlocking things that are usually inaccessible to humankind. In this case, we want to unlock space, time, and knowledge.” He set down his knife and poured water from the pitcher, stopping the instant before it overflowed the bowl’s edges. The water’s surface bulged in a slightly convex curve.
He waved, mumbled something under his breath, and the blue firefly lights dimmed until only a pair of oil lamps illuminated the room. He braced his hands flat on the table on either side of the bowl and leaned forward until his face hovered over the water.
A low, soft hum filled the room, and only after I listened for a while did I realize the sound came from Otokar, although he hadn’t moved his mouth. He hummed from his throat, and the air cooled as he gazed into the water. Frigid mists rose from the bowl and swelled, filling the room until I shivered and my breath came out in visible puffs of condensation. Without breaking his focus on the water, he paused his singing. “Come, Evie. This requires a small sacrifice from you. You are the one who has knowledge of these people. You must give what you know to the Magic.”
Hesitantly I rose and approached him. “How do I do that?”
“Knowledge and memories are carried in the blood. You must give the Magic your blood.”
“No.” Gideon scrambled to his feet.
I raised a hand, stopping him before he uttered another protest. “What are we talking about? A deep flesh wound, an open vein?”
Otoakar huffed. “A mere finger prick should do.”
I waved at Gideon, motioning for him to step back and calm down. “A prick. That’s all?”
The Magician presented his knife to me. “One drop.”
I studied his face, searching for deception, but saw none. Before I could talk myself out of it, I took the knife and pressed the tip against my thumb, gritting my teeth as the blade punctured sensitive skin. A drop of red bloomed from the tiny wound. Otokar gestured toward the water bowl. I squeezed my thumb, and the blood dripped, spreading rings across the water’s taut surface. A pale-red cloud dispersed through the liquid and faded. “What now?” I asked.
Otokar pointed at the pillows as he took position over the bowl and resumed his deep gazing and humming. I sank onto the cushions beside Gideon, sucking my wounded thumb. Several uneventful moments passed, and the little spark of hope in my chest dimmed. Perhaps Otokar’s Magical dealings would result in nothing at all. But a ghostly light blossomed across the water’s surface, highlighting his long nose and strong brow. His singing faded away, and he seemed to freeze like a statue—no breathing, no subtle muscle twitches. I leaned closer to Gideon, bit my lip, and waited.
Time slowed. Shadows deepened. The mists thickened. Then, as if it came from somewhere far away, a shout echoed through the room, followed by laughter, a jeering crowd, horses neighing, a girl giggling. The girl’s laughter reminded me of someone...Malita? How was it possible, hearing her laughter as though she merely stood outside the laboratory door?
I shifted, preparing to see for myself the things that had claimed Otokar’s attention, but Gideon grasped my arm. “Just wait,” he whispered, his attention focused on the Magician.
Otokar thawed from his frozen state, and his eyes flickered. His hand hovered over the water’s surface, and his fingers twitched as though turning pages from a book. He watched a while longer until the distant sounds faded. He blinked, looked up from the bowl, and rubbed his wrist across his eyes.
Sighing, he stepped back from the table as mists dwindled, and the room temperature rose. The urge to ask him to tell me everything burned on my tongue, but Gideon squeezed my arm. I swallowed my questions and waited for the Magician to gather his composure.
He raised a hand and waggled his fingers. The blue firefly lights flickered to life. He went to a small desk, poured the contents of another pitcher into a goblet, and drank it in several huge gulps. Smacking his lips, he folded his hands at his waist and fixed his gaze on me. “I believe I have found your friends.”
Shrugging off Gideon’s grip, I shot to my feet. “Where are they?”
Otokar’s brow furrowed. He wrinkled his nose. “That part is more difficult to say.”
“Difficult?”
“The vision does not show me a map, Evie. The Magic only allows me to see a small piece of a large puzzle. But the details of that piece provide some clues. There was a crowd, and the people were speaking a foreign language. I cannot be certain, but it sounded like a language from the Syrillivic regions—Bluraise, Galgota, Varynga, and so forth.”
“I heard Varyngish.” Gideon rose to stand beside me. “I’m sure of it.”
I blinked at him as if he’d told me he could walk on water. “Is there any language you don’t speak?”
“I don’t speak it.” Gideon huffed. “But I’ve met Varyngan traders a few times in Steinerland. I may have picked up a word or two.”
Languages stuck to him like glue, and I envied his talent. “There must be something you’re bad at. One of these days I’ll find out what that is.”
He folded his arms over his chest and grunted as if to say good luck. I turned to Otokar. “So, the Fantazikes could be somewhere in Varynga. It’s an enormous country, judging by the maps I’ve seen in my father’s study. How are we supposed to find a single pod of peas in a ten-thousand-acre wood?”
He threw hands out at his sides. “Before, you only knew they could be anywhere in the whole world. Now you know what country they are in. Compared to searching for them in hundreds of nations, finding them in one country should be simple, no?”
“Simple?” I shook my head. “Maybe a little less hopeless than before, but not simple.” Even as I said it, plans formed in my head. I could return to the Katedrála z Vzrostl Syn and ask Sister Maria to focus our inquiries on her counterparts in Varynga. “Perhaps the empress has contacts among the royal family in Toksva,” I said, naming the capital city. “Maybe one of them has seen the Fantazikes. They like setting up near big cities. More people means more money.”
Otokar folded his hands and bowed toward me. “I shall be pleased to talk to the empress on your behalf. I will ask her to start an inquiry.”
“Really?” I glanced at Gideon, and his dour expression dampened my enthusiasm. His seriousness reminded me about the hazards of raising my hopes prematurely. I cleared my throat and clasped my hands behind my back, adopting a stiffer posture. “Tell Her Majesty I would be grateful for her assistance.”
Gideon pressed closer to my side, and I interpreted his body language: he was ready to leave. I bobbed a quick curtsey to Otokar and backed away. “I am grateful for your assistance, too.”
