I didn’t think about writing to tell Mr. Boden at all.
CHAPTER 20
MRS. CALLAHAN HAD LEFT A CARPET BAG BY MY BED. I CRAMMED A few underthings and an extra skirt and blouse into it any which way, then after a moment added my good Sunday dress, just in case. I didn’t really know what I’d need. I hadn’t been back East since I was thirteen. The last thing I packed was the broken-winged stone bird I’d brought back from Daybat Creek, so I could show it to Lan when he recovered. If he recovered.
I couldn’t think. Twice, I found myself standing in front of the wardrobe, holding the door open and staring at my clothes without really seeing them. There was a hard lump in the middle of my chest that wouldn’t go away. I didn’t even try to tell myself that Lan was sure to be all right. They wouldn’t have sent for Mama and Papa so urgently if they thought there was a good likelihood of that.
Dinner was cold meat and bread and cheese that Mrs. Callahan laid out for us to grab as we rushed around finishing things up so that we could leave the next day. I didn’t sleep well that night; I don’t think any of us did. Mama had dark circles under her eyes when we caught the train in the morning. Papa just looked tired and strained.
It was a long, quiet trip. Mama held tight to Papa’s hand for the first few hours; then she held mine. She went back and forth like that for most of the trip. None of us said much. The train still took nearly two full days to get from Mill City to Philadelphia, so it was late in the afternoon when we finally got off at the platform on Broad Street. As we waited for the porter to finish unloading our baggage, a young man came up to Papa.
“Mr. Rothmer?” he said tentatively. He looked relieved when Papa nodded. “I don’t know if you remember me, sir. I’m Nicolas Petrakis; we met when you came to New Amsterdam two years ago. Dean Ziegler got your telegram and sent me to watch for you.”
“Mr. Petrakis,” Papa said. “How is my son?” That told me just how tired and worried Papa was; normally, he’d have made himself introduce Mama and me first, no matter what.
“Lan’s still …” Mr. Petrakis hesitated. “… unconscious. He’s in the Philadelphia Hospital, and he has the best doctors in Philadelphia,” he added hastily. “I can take you there now, or —”
“Take us there now,” Mama said before he could finish.
Mr. Petrakis looked at her and nodded. He and Papa exchanged a few more words, then we loaded our bags onto the carriage he had waiting and drove straight to the hospital. Mr. Petrakis told us where Mr. Ziegler had arranged for us to stay, and took our bags on for us while we went in to see Lan.
We didn’t actually get to see him that day. Lan was in a private room in the Surgery and Magical Injuries wing of the hospital, and the doctors all thought he was still in too delicate a condition to have visitors, even us, though they did say we could come back in the morning. Mama was all set to spend the night in the waiting room, but Papa said there was no point in all of us getting more exhausted than we already were. She still wouldn’t leave until she got the hospital people to promise to send a message right away if there was any change in Lan’s condition. It wasn’t until we got to the hotel that we found out any more about how it had all happened.
Mr. Petrakis was waiting for us with two men and a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman about five or six years older than me. “Miriam!” Mama said when she saw them, and hurried forward.
“Frank will be here tomorrow,” Miriam said. “He had some trouble finding someone to take over his patients.” I realized she must be my oldest brother’s wife. I’d never met her; Frank had gotten married while I was still in upper school, and only Mama and Papa had come East for the wedding. Now that he’d finally finished all of his schooling and his apprenticeship, he was a full-fledged medical magician at the New Amsterdam State Hospital, and already pretty important. There weren’t all that many folks who took time to learn both medical and magical healing.
Mama gave Miriam a hug, and then we had a round of introductions. The bearded, brown-haired man was Mr. Ziegler, the dean of Simon Magus College, and the stern, thin-lipped man with the dark hair was Professor Martin Lefevre. As soon as we finished being polite, we went off to one of the sitting rooms to talk, and of course the first thing Papa wanted to know was what had happened.
“As far as we can determine, Professor Warren was demonstrating a series of mid-level construction spells for his sophomore class in comparative magic, and something went wrong,” Dean Ziegler said. “The injured students are a bit vague as to exactly what, but it is clear that Professor Warren lost control. Mr. Rothmer managed to protect his classmates; I firmly believe that it is due to his quick action that the only serious injuries were to himself and Professor Warren.” He gave Papa a solemn look. “Your son is a hero, sir.”
Professor Lefevre snorted. “He shouldn’t have needed to be. I’ll wager anything you please that Warren was messing about with some of that Hijero-Cathayan foolishness he was so fond of.”
“Yes, well, we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Dean Ziegler said. “And after all, one would expect him to pay some attention to Hijero-Cathayan spells in a class on comparative magic.”
“A talent such as young Mr. Rothmer’s shouldn’t have been wasted in that man’s classes in the first place,” Professor Lefevre went on as if Dean Ziegler hadn’t spoken.
“If Mr. Rothmer hadn’t been there, this incident would likely have been far worse,” Dean Ziegler pointed out. “In any case, I expect that he’ll focus on more traditional forms of magic after this experience.”
Papa asked for more details about the spell they thought had gone wrong, and the conversation got technical. I stopped listening and started thinking about what Dean Ziegler and Professor Lefevre had said. Lan had written quite a bit about Professor Warren in his letters, and most of it hadn’t been complimentary. I wondered what Lan had thought of Professor Lefevre. I couldn’t decide whether Lefevre just disliked Professor Warren, or maybe Hijero-Cathayan magic, or whether he was like all the other folks who made a fuss over Lan for being a double-seventh son.
We didn’t talk for much longer. Mama and Papa and I were real tired from the train, and Mama wanted to be at the hospital early in the morning. As soon as the three men from the college left, we went up to our room and fell into bed.
Frank arrived sometime in the middle of the night; he and Miriam were waiting for us when we came down to breakfast in the morning. Having a doctor with us helped when we got to the hospital. Even though Frank didn’t work there, the doctors were a lot more willing to tell him what they thought, and they even took him in to see Lan. When he came out, he said that Lan was still unconscious, but they expected him to wake up soon and we’d all be able to see him then. Meanwhile, they only let Mama and Papa in for a few minutes.
We spent the rest of the day at the hospital. Lan didn’t wake that day, nor the day after. The doctors frowned more and spent even less time talking to us, even Frank. On top of that, the newspapers got hold of the story and went on about Lan being a double-seven and a hero and saving fifty people from a deadly rogue spell, even though Dean Ziegler told us that there were only eleven students and Professor Warren in the classroom at the time and nobody outside had ever been in danger at all.