“Nossir.”
“I thought not.” The mage pointed toward the girl’s feet and uttered three harsh words which sounded something like: Ak-Sum-Re.
A tingling sensation swept through Dora’s feet. The fur was gone without a trace. The girl beamed at the wizard.
“In the future, be more careful around spells,” Nestor told her solemnly. He yawned, closed his eyes, and before Dora could thank him, he was asleep.
When the morning came, the mage’s legs and back were as stiff as the old floorboards. Nestor grunted, groaned, struggled to rise, and finally motioned for Dora to help him from his bed. “Gods, it’s no fun to get old,” he muttered. “Don’t do it, girl, if you can avoid it.”
He warmed himself by the fire while Dora fixed his breakfast. Gingerly, he partook of the fresh oatcakes and steaming milk. Nestor felt considerably better after his meal. He had work to do. Spells to read. The mage set both feet against the floor and rose slowly, straightening as he went. Pain shot up both his legs and crawled across his back. Gasping, Nestor sank into his seat.
“What’s wrong?” Dora said.
“Rheumatism,” Nestor said.
“Let me make you a salve. It’ll warm up your legs.”
The wizard fixed a skeptical eye on her. “A salve? And I suppose a dragon taught you medicine, yes?”
The girl gave him a defiant look. “As a matter of fact, no. I was scullery help to the apothecary in Physte. Learned a bit here and there.”
“Hmmph. Well, I’m willing to try anything to unknot these muscles and banish these aches. Mix your potions, child.”
Her expression turned anxious. “I’ll need blackroot, mannis weed, and tincture of lemonwort.”
“You’ll find some in the jars by the kitchen window. Just mind that you read the labels. If you know how to read.”
“I know what the herbs look like, well enough,” Dora said. “I don’t need to read. But how am I going to reach them? They’re on such a high shelf.”
“I’ll get them for you,” Nestor said. He chanted two words quickly. Three speckled stone canisters floated through the air and came to rest at Dora’s feet.
She crushed the herbs carefully in the wizard’s mortar and pestle, then mixed them with honey and paraffin to form a soothing balm.
“A-a-h,” Nestor sighed. His legs were warming, the pains and aches easing. “Better than magick.”
“You could use a hot bath,” Dora said.
“Later, girl. Later. I’ve got work to do. Weather to change. Rats to drive out of the baker’s storehouse …” The wizard’s words trailed off as he watched Dora struggle with the heavy stone canisters as she tried to replace them by the window. “That won’t do,” he said. “Not at all. Girl, you might as well learn a few useful household spells so I don’t end up having to do all the heavy lifting around here.”
“I don’t know—”
“Well, I do.” Nestor’s grey eyes glowed. “Sit down here and pay attention.”
Dora clambered onto the stool by his side.
“Now repeat this carefully: Cana Ferem Asturem.”
Dora spoke the words slowly, in a near-whisper. Nothing happened.
“Louder. And enunciate more clearly, girl. And elongate the first syllable.”
“Caa-na. Fe-er-em. A-a-s-turem.”
To Dora’s amazement, the canisters jumped back to their slots on the window ledge.
“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands. “It’s like singing them into place.”
Nestor nodded until his beard danced upon his chest. “In a way, I suppose it is.” He smiled as Dora instructed the milk bowl to place itself in the cabinet. He almost chuckled when she did the same with the mortar and pestle. But when the thatch-seat chair nearly knocked the mage down in its spell-induced haste to resume its position next to the fire, Nestor held up his hand. “Enough, child! This is serious work, not play. Now come along and I’ll teach you properly how to clean the house without draining all your energy. Or endangering me.”
Wizard and girl spent the remainder of the day side by side, practicing the odd words and ancient phrases. As Dora could not read, she was forced to learn the spells by sound, Nestor calling them out and Dora repeating carefully until she had committed them to memory. And in this manner she learned the spell for washing, for mixing, for drying, and even for baking.
“Don’t much care for that one,” she said. “I’ll burn the oatcakes with it.”
“Practice,” Nestor said. “Much practice makes all things easier.”
In the days that followed, Dora found that there was much truth in the mage’s words. Soon she had mastered the magic of the house and felt quite at ease instructing a cake to mix and bake itself, the flame tea to begin steeping, and the beds to air themselves on the front porch.
Renno, watching her work one morning, broke into a smile so deep that his face became a mass of wrinkles. “I’d say you’re a quick learner, girl,” he said. “Not such a bad apprentice after all.”
Nestor loomed up behind him, a scowl on his face. “Apprentice? What apprentice?” the wizard said. “She’s a housekeeper, Renno. I still need an apprentice.”
“But she’s done so well.”
“Oh, I’ll grant you that the house is clean. The laundry is dry. The oatcakes are fine. But any first-year kitchen witch could master those tricks. No, what I need is a proper apprentice. A tall boy to fetch my spell book, represent me at the town meeting, carry my staff. And before the convocation. We only have a few days. Renno, you’ll have to try the Sporvan market.”
The manservant shook his head. “There isn’t time, master. The Sporvan market doesn’t open until the day past Mass Day. And by then it’ll be too late. The convocation begins that same morning.”
Nestor made a sour face. “You’re right. By the stars, girl, I suppose you’ll have to do until after the convocation. Do you think you can learn a few more spells by Mass Day?”
“I don’t know,” Dora said. She gazed at the mage in despair. “I don’t think my poor head can hold much more.”
“Try,” Nestor said. “Try very hard. Or perhaps I’ll decide to give you a new head with a little more room in it—and green hair.”
Dora clutched at her red curls. “You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t tempt a wizard when he’s cranky, girl. Now come over here, be silent, and learn!”
For six mornings running, after Dora had finished her chores, she dutifully sat beside the mage and practiced the runes for basic magic. At first her spells misfired. More than once, Nestor was forced to cancel a spell in mid-strike to avoid burning the house down or turning every piece of wood in the house to iron. But finally, Dora could float the wizard’s ivory staff across the room, douse fire by summoning water from the ground, change spoons and knives into small silvery rodents, and cause empty boots to walk across the floor.
“She’s as ready as she’ll ever be,” Renno said.
“Yes, and I suppose she’s better than empty air. But she needs a proper cloak, Renno.”
“Aye, master. That she does.” Renno nodded. “My good wife can sew her a proper enough cloak from sapskin.”
“I think that should do,” Nestor said. “And make it blue, Renno.”
The manservant turned to stare at the wizard. “Blue?” he said. “Why blue? All your other apprentices wore black.”
“None of them were girls, were they? With blue eyes?” Nestor chuckled. “Blue it shall be, Renno. And no more backtalk.”
Master and servant exchanged silent smiles.
“Then I’ll be off,” Renno said. “Good day to you.” Whistling a cheerful melody, he hurried toward home.